


Paraselenic

by EmpyrealFantasy



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Banter, But Voldemort Will Eventually be Pretty, Characters remaining "Light" will not be an excuse for bad characterization, Dark Harry, Dark Lord Harry Potter, Emotional Constipation, Explicit Sexual Content, Feelings Come First, Horcruxes, Idiots in Love, M/M, Manipulative Dumbledore, Minor Character Death, Minor Kink (Domination/Dub-Con), No character bashing, Post-Order of the Phoenix AU, Rewrite, Romance, SO MUCH BANTER, Sarcasm, Self-indulgent tripe, There are downsides to everything, Time Travel, Tom Has Issues, Torture, Trope Subversion/Inversion, Unhealthy Emotional Expression, Vampire Harry, Violence, but not evil dumbledore, kind of, love isn't easy, slowest of burns
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-20
Updated: 2017-07-12
Packaged: 2018-09-10 13:51:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 17
Words: 108,803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8919538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmpyrealFantasy/pseuds/EmpyrealFantasy
Summary: After Sirius's death, Harry decides to escape the life the Wizarding world has been building for him. He will fulfill the prophecy his own way: at Voldemort's side. The Light will never know what hit it.[Ten years after originally writing this, I am finally ready to take on an updated, expanded, kijiggered version I've been poking off and on for years. Here goes nothing!]





	1. Paraselenic // an image of the moon seen within a lunar halo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have been cleaning up and reposting so many things these last few years as my writing inspiration has waned with the horrors of mid-life adulthood. But I've always held this one back. Paraselenic has always been different; it remains one of my greatest joys and what I consider to be my biggest fandom achievement. 
> 
> This is not a full rewrite, but by the end it will be very different from that loved, original piece. There are additional scenes, expansions, integrations, and most of all I am reforming the ending entirely. I was never happy with how it turned out, so it will be very, very different from how it once was.
> 
> This is dedicated to the thousands of people who read, encouraged, and stuck by me. I am still so grateful, even all these years later. ❤

Fifteen year old Harry Potter was finished. He was finished with the seesawing adulation and antagonism the Wizarding world threw at him, he was finished with the expectations and demands of strangers. He was finished with the way the fates seemed to toy with him, the way his life seemed to be a long string of unfortunate occurrences that no other single person would be forced to endure. He was just finished.

Hadn’t it been enough to have lost his parents before he’d even known them? Wasn't it enough to have been left in what was likely the least friendly household possible for his childhood? Wasn't it enough that he had faced near-death situations every year since starting Hogwarts for a war he’d never had a choice about joining? He hadn't asked for this life. He hadn't done anything to deserve the praise and attention or the derision and trials. But he’d still tried his damndest to work through it all and take life as it came at him.

But now... this.  This really was the icing on the cake. Sirius was dead. He’d finally had an adult that had seen him as a human being, someone to be cherished and loved for more than just his defeat of Voldemort as a child. Sirius had had his flaws, of course; Harry had known that his godfather had seen James far more often than Harry himself, but at least he’d loved him. He had been the first person Harry had ever had to look up to without getting hatred or unwarranted regard in return.

At first he had blamed himself for Sirius's death. Sometimes he still did. He could have tried harder at Occlumency or even just thought a little bit more before he acted. No matter what the hat had said all those years ago, he was almost _too_ Gryffindor at times, charging headfirst into danger without a backwards glance. He was brave before he was wise, but it had always worked out for the best. Looking back, he was lucky more people hadn’t died while he’d rushed ahead. He knew he was not without blame.

For all he had blame, though, he knew he was not alone in it. He was fifteen years old and barely educated, how in Merlin's name did they expect him to know reality from a trap? No one had thought to tell him that such things could be faked, instead sticking him in a room with the Greasy Git and expecting him to listen to the old bat when he snapped out for Harry to clear his mind. How? How was he supposed to do even that, let alone keep Voldemort out? How was he to know how much Voldemort was able to do with a thoroughfare into his mind? His ignorance had cost him dearly, no matter whose fault it was.

Was that their grand plan, perhaps, to leave him so alone and full of pain that he would simply slay their enemy and then die with a smile?

Dumbledore was a good man at heart, Harry was sure. It wasn't intentional that he treated Harry as a weapon in his multi-decade war… he was just trying to do what he thought was best. He had the best intentions of the entire world mapped out in his mind, and what was one boy stacked up against all that? But, good intentions or no, Harry had no qualms against taking himself out of the plans laid for him. It was his life after all, damnit, and he could choose his own path. Dumbledore could find someone else to play the savior.

Harry didn't want the title, the responsibilities. And what did he have to lose anymore if he just… left? Took his life back into his own hands and left behind all those expectations?

He collected the last of his belongings from the dingy bedroom that had been 'his' for the last four summers, stuffing everything into his pockets that would fit and filling a small rucksack with the few other belongings he cared for. He was thankful that his most important possessions were not kept in the school trunk that he doubted he would ever see again, locked downstairs in his old cupboard as it was. He supposed he could break into it and retrieve the trunk, but it would only slow him down. He wanted to be gone, and he didn't want to risk being caught before he was well away from Surrey.

Harry was pleased to find that Vernon had forgotten to lock the deadbolts on his bedroom door that morning, and he whistled jauntily as he took the stairs two at a time. He was ready – _so ready_ – to be gone and on his way out of the life he had been forced into.

Without a word to his family, he was out the door, down the street, and away from Privet Drive forever. He wouldn't come back unless they had him bound and gagged, he promised himself that.

He made it nearly a block down Wisteria Walk before a figure stepped out of the shadows, a tall man with waist length black hair and a charming smile. The smile managed to be wholly pleasant while still retaining a sharp danger to it, the easy way he cocked his head making Harry think of a predator. Golden eyes focused on him and Harry was halted, the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end. He couldn’t even grab for his wand, frozen as he was.

"Harry Potter…" the man said in an unidentifiable accent. His smile only grew as Harry took a step back warily. Fangs were prominent in that grin. "I've been waiting for an opportunity to speak to you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First chapters are very similar to the original, but slowly this fic will transform from what it once was. If there is a new reader left out there that is reading now, please resist the urge to read the original; this will be much better, plottier, snarkier, darker, and in the end much more fulfilling.
> 
> My inspiration is still, after all these years, fed with support. So let me know what you think. :)


	2. Mylläkkä // chaos and disruption

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another one more or less similar to the original. The changes start ramping up after, though. :) 
> 
> Thanks so much for the response to the mere idea of me reposting this! I love you guys.

Twenty-five year old Harry Potter gave a choked groan as he was unceremoniously pinned to the ground, a forearm pressing into his throat hard enough to create little bursts of light behind his eyelids while he gasped for air.

"I give, damnit!" he rasped out, gulping in lungfuls of air as the arm was finally removed. He glared up at the blue eyes that hovered over him, slitted pupils narrow, the glint to them the only part of his opponent’s expression that gave away amusement. Harry blew away a chunk of golden hair that was dangling in his face and planted his foot in the blond’s abdomen, throwing him several feet away. "Damnit," he cursed again.

His opponent stood gracefully, brushing at his trousers to smooth them. "I apologize, Mylläkkä, but you will never defeat me."

"Obviously not," Harry said with a punctuating snort. "I literally have a decimal point of your hundreds of years of experience, Dante. But for being a beginner, I like to think I do decently." Harry snatched up his daggers from where they had been lost in the fight, strapping them into their customary places on his person – one on the thigh in plain sight while another was held in place with a spell at the small of his back, his long hair and a disillusionment spell keeping it hidden. Harry couldn't help another groan as he stood, wincing when several joints popped and his muscles protested moving at all after the hours of sparring. He prodded at his lip with his tongue when he tasted blood, finding he had reopened a nearly healed wound from another training session. He paused suddenly though, frowning and glancing back at his instructor. “I do, right? I’m not utterly hopeless?”

Dante Pierce might have had a reputation for his prowess – he was widely considered to be the most skilled fighter in the Immortal Realm of any species, if not in the Mortal Realm as well – but it was rarely also mentioned that he was the most ruthless. The vampire had been training around the world for almost a millennium in fighting styles of all sorts, but his teaching style mostly consisted of beating the utter crap out of his student until they picked up enough to fight back. Harry knew to be grateful, though; it was rare that Dante bothered to take on a student. He had not bothered in at least a century. So Harry was thankful for the chance, even as he felt he was all bruise in the aftermath. It was an improvement: he didn’t feel any obvious broken bones and other than his split lip, he didn’t think he was bleeding. This was a large improvement from even only a year ago.

"If you would simply acquiesce to a full Change, Mylläkkä, you would have much less difficulty in battle. It is your need to breathe and the quickness with which you tire that I am always able to use against you. But yes, for being hardly more than human and with only a few years of tutelage, you are adequate."

Harry glared jealously at Dante, who stood perfectly unruffled and looking for all the world as if he had not just kicked Harry’s arse for hours. He cursed to himself, damning vampires and ignoring the fact that he was mostly one as well.

He was not a vampire in the traditional sense, as his sparring partner had kindly pointed out. Normal vampires had no need for air and most certainly did not feel like they had been run over by a hippogriff after a spar. Harry had only imbibed the blood of an Ancient One, one of the very oldest of the species, which allowed a kind of partial shift in his mortality.

He required blood, and with that came the famed capabilities for vampiric speed and strength, something he had concentrated on honing in the last years. He had been disappointed to find that such abilities were not natural with vampirism, that the infection simply removed the cap on how strong or how fast a human body could get. He had worked hard in the last decade to improve himself, though, so although he couldn’t hold a candle to beings like Dante, compared to a human he was exceptional.

It would have been easier if he’d just allowed himself to be Changed entirely, of course, but at least for now he was still mostly living in the most literal sense. His healing was barely more than that of a human's and his need to breath did hamper his efforts to surpass his instructor, but he was rather fond of the daylight and had not wished to give it up, which all vampires had to for the first hundred or two years after their Change. On top of that, he was able to avoid most of the pitfalls of vampirism this way and had none of the weaknesses that made them vulnerable in their early decades.

The partial transformation had been the only way he could come to Sceaduwe. Only those of immortal blood could enter the shadowed realm that the citadel resided in, and it had been a compromise on Valerian's part for him to remain something of a halfbreed. Valerian had wanted to turn him on the same day he'd met him, but Harry had been very disgruntled with the idea of staying in his malnourished fifteen year old body for eternity, not even touching on how the Change would hamper his plans when he returned to the Wizarding world.

Harry shook his head. "No, I am happy with how I am. This will be enough for what I have to do."

Dante let out a small sound that would have vaguely resembled a snort had Dante had the ability to do something so plebeian. "Whatever you say."

"Valerian is waiting for me in the solarium, so I should get going… but I leave tomorrow, you know."

Dante cut his eyes away. "You will return?"

"I—perhaps," Harry said, drawing out the word as he looked away as well. He honestly did not know if returning would even be an option when all was said and done, let alone if he would be given the choice. He loved living in Sceaduwe, but no one could predict what would befall him in the mortal realm. Harry liked to think he would survive the coming conflict, but could be guarantee it? No. Maybe it was his stunted childhood talking, but he'd never put much stock in happy endings. "But I will keep in touch once I catch up with this time for sure."

As Harry exchanged one last look with Dante and left the room, he let out a quiet laugh. How had he come so far? He could hardly remember his former life anymore, and here he was about to be thrown headfirst back into it. Harry skirted around a group of dwarves, nodding to one of them with a ready smirk. His life was so monumentally different now. He would never regret his choice to follow a man he had never met off of the streets of Surrey, even if that man could have had his death in mind for all Harry had known.

Merlin, was he so glad he had.

Fifteen year old Harry Potter followed the tall being, the Marquis Valerian was what he went by, through the complicated labyrinth of hallways. Sceaduwe Citadel was nothing so impressive as Hogwarts, but it had a magic flowing through it like nothing Harry had ever experienced before. It was ominous, almost; the electricity of the magic hung thick and heavy in the air. He wondered if it was his newly enhanced senses that made it seem so, or if it was the new realm he found himself in for the last months. He was hardly used to it.

"Come, pet, we must harvest the ingredients for the potion if you ever intend to return to the mortal realm."

"Harvest?" Harry asked with raised eyebrows. "What do you mean?"

Valerian turned back with a smirk that showed a fang. "Oh, nothing for you to worry that pretty head of yours over."

A warning chill ran up Harry's spine.

"Ah, here we are. Pet, meet Dougal Fraiser," he said imperiously as they entered a dark room, waving his hand at a tall redhead. "He is our resident Potions Master and will be harvesting the needed ingredients to be sure you can return to your life when your training here is done."

Harry eyed the man warily. Being fifteen and five foot four was hard enough as it was, but looking at the hulking man that towered over him at what Harry supposed to be nearly seven feet, he felt positively tiny. "Um, nice to meet you?"

Valerian cuffed him upside the head. "You do not say 'um' like the hoi polloi! Again!"

"Nice to meet you," Harry said again through gritted teeth. This had already become common in the weeks that had passed, and he had already learned that it was useless to argue with the elder vampire. He knew he would lose if only due to the sheer stubbornness that Valerian possessed.

"Good, pet."

Harry hated the nickname; it made him feel like a child. Glaring, he turned to say just that when he caught the wicked glint in Valerian's eyes. He backed away a step. "Um, wh-why are you looking at me like that?"

Valerian's grin widened and he held up his hand, showing the small ceremonial blade he held in it.

Harry's eyes went round. He didn't know what the 'ingredients' were, but he'd be damned if he didn't think it was going to hurt.

" _'Harry'_ is bland."

Harry had been in Sceaduwe Citadel for nearly six months now, and after being continuously referred to as 'pet' or not at all, he had finally asked why. The sixteen year old scowled. "It is the name my parents gave me."

Valerian rolled his eyes. "I do not care. Perhaps amongst the mortals it is fitting, but here it is as dull and lifeless as a corpse. Beyond that, you wish to create an identity for yourself outside of all you left behind, yes? You need a new name, and I shall be the one to give it to you!"

Harry swore that he twitched.

Valerian paced the space in front of his desk, finger tapping his chin thoughtfully. "What language to choose from, though, hmm? Perhaps French? It is the land of my birth, after all."

Harry had visions of being called Chouchou for the rest of his life and shuddered. "No thank you."

"Italian, then, perhaps? I spent a few decades in the last century there, it is a lovely place."

Harry tilted his head. "What do you have in mind?"

Valerian flapped his hand at him. "Shush, you. I am speaking to myself; you shall have no say in this. No, Italian does not suit you." He circled Harry like a bird of prey, narrowed eyes scrutinizing. "You know, you remind me of a lover I kept in the late fifteenth century. A proud man, one who wished to do what was right for his people, but vicious in defense of those he deemed worthy. And he was a revolutionist… oh goddesses was he grand. His wish was to change his country, to free his people…" Valerian sighed wistfully. "Such a man."

Harry shifted uncomfortably and nearly looked away. "Um, what does this have to do with naming me?"

Valerian snapped out of his reverie, grinning sheepishly. "I apologize, pet. I was reminiscing. As I was saying, you remind me much of him both in your intentions and with those ever-so enchanting eyes of yours. And he was called Mylläkkä, Bringer of Chaos. It suits you as well, as I am sure chaos will be what you will bring upon your Wizarding world. Finland is such a beautiful place, really; I spent the longest there that I have ever spent in a mortal country: three hundred years. I consider it my home, truly."

Harry's eyebrows rose, he hadn't expected such a dignified sounding name from the flighty man. A slow smile spread across his face. "Mylläkkä. I like it."

"Hullo… Elder Peirce? Valerian said that you agreed to teach me physical fighting?"

Valerian had told him that the man in front of him was known as one of the best fighters alive, having trained dozens of famous warriors over the centuries. In addition, he was made perfect by being the only immortal in existence to have Wizarding magic alongside his creature powers; generally gaining the latter made the former wither and die away. Harry was excited to integrate more physical forms of fighting into his dueling; wizards were often lazy and relied too heavily on shields rather than movement and fighting with weapons.

Dante Pierce was not as tall as some, perhaps an even six feet tall, but his poise made him seem bigger somehow. Golden hair fell to his shoulder blades and brilliant blue eyes held slitted pupils indicative of his vampirism. The compelling eyes were currently examining him like an especially disgusting bug. "Hn."

Harry shifted. "W-would you like to work out a schedule?"

The blond blinked.

"Or perhaps we could start right away? I would like to learn."

Dante picked at his fingers, ignoring him now.

"Can you even speak?"

"Yes."

"Then why aren't you? Valerian said you had agreed, but if you'd rather me leave—"

Dante raised an eyebrow.

"Are you going to answer me or not?!"

"Hn."

"Arg! You are infuriating!"

"You will be in this room at four o'clock in the morning. Every morning."

Harry paused in his frustrated growling, paling slightly at the cold command in the blond's voice. "Oh. All right then."

"Sir."

Harry gulped, taking in the utterly emotionless face of the man- no, vampire. He had met a lot of people who were able to conceal their emotions, but never to this extent. He was used to seeing a sneer in place of a laugh or a scowl instead of raving in annoyance, but this was ridiculous. The man looked like he was made of stone, for Merlin's sake! While with many he would have made a snide comment, with this man he felt lost as to how proceed. He couldn't read him at all.

He gulped. "Y-Yes, sir."

Though the blond's face didn't twitch, Harry got the distinct impression that he was smirking.

Valerian growled at the young vampire that challenged him. Harry was breathless as he watched Valerian angry for the first time, seeing the palpable swirls of colored magic that danced around him. Tanned skin glowed bronze, golden eyes blazed. The young vampire was obviously a fool, Harry mused, as he stood cockily through the display without cowering. Even his shorn reddish-brown hair swaying with the force of Valerian's power didn't seem to deter the young upstart.

"You've lost your touch in your advanced years, Ancient one. Obviously new blood is needed. You're too soft, letting the werewolves into Sceaduwe and letting that human concubine of yours roam around like he rules us. Sceaduwe is for Immortals, not imitations!"

Valerian smirked, a menacing twist of his lips that made Harry freeze in place. "Come at me then, Childe. Show me how powerful you are."

Harry watched in awe as Valerian merely ducked under the attack aimed at him, putting no visible effort into the move. He slid fluidly like water, dancing around the younger. It was so unlike the usual irreverence that he associated with Valerian that Harry could hardly breathe. He was the picture of what the textbooks at Hogwarts had described vampires to be, menacing and all tightly controlled power. _This_ was what Harry wanted for himself, this power and command of his body. He could see now why the other immortals in the citadel deferred to Valerian so easily. It also explained the way people would stare resentfully towards Harry but never raise a complaint against his presence.

Valerian flipped back away from the relentless attacks of his infuriated challenger, startling Harry out of his reverie. Harry could feel the shift in atmosphere, the way Valerian’s amusement dropped and his back straightened. Even the challenger halted his movement with wide eyes as Valerian raised his hand to his mouth and slit his palm on a fang. His bleeding hand was slammed palm-down to the ground before the young vampire could start moving once more, bolts of pure magic shooting up from the tips of Valerian's fingers. A spectrum of color coalesced at Valerian's side as he straightened.

A huge fox that seemed to be made of shadows and power alone stood by Valerian's side with its back level with Valerian's waist, teeth bared and eyes a bloody red. Harry's mind recalled Voldemort in that moment, the glow of power causing a chill to run down his spine. With a flick of Valerian's wrist, the fox leapt at the challenging vampire, sinking its teeth into his neck with a sickening squelching sound before he could even move. Harry's stomach rolled. At seventeen years old, he had seen death before… but this was the most violent by far. There was a profound difference between death by Killing Curse or a vampire’s bite and the bloodbath Valerian had just incited as the summoned fox tore the challenger to bloody shreds before them.

Nonetheless, Harry couldn't help being amazed at Valerian's abilities. _This_ was what he could become?

He was still mentally waxing poetic on Valerian's finer points when the elder vampire dragged him into the shadows and instantly transported them back to their rooms. Valerian had put off his questions with a shake of his head and pointed Harry toward the bathroom, insisting he shower for dinner.

Food was served too slowly, and Harry fairly vibrated in his seat as he waited for it to be polite to talk. Quail tonight, Harry noted with a faint frown. Too extravagant. Everything about Valerian tended to lean towards the dramatic and excessive, though, so it was nothing new. At least the company was good. He and Valerian had dined together every night for the last year, and Harry was constantly amazed by how well they got along. He had never been much for socializing, but Valerian was stubborn enough to wrench him out of his shell by force. Most days, Harry was thankful for that.

Finally the servants ducked from the room, leaving Harry leaning over his plate with a grin. "Good Merlin, that was brilliant today, Val! How did you do it? Can I learn that now? You fight like a genius! You didn't even need a wand, how did you manage that?"

Valerian chuckled lightly. "It is vampire magic, pet, Blood magic. Considered Dark and rightfully so. No, you cannot do it right now, it took me over a century to manage a summon. You will have quite some time left until then, and I was a prodigy. Expect at least two hundred years. No, I will not teach you to fight, your body needs at least several decades of training to be able to harness the strength, speed, and agility I possess. Dante is used to working within mortal capabilities, I am not. Though you now have a much higher threshold for such things, a vampire does not automatically gain inhuman ability, as I have told you time and again. You must work for it. And so you shall. However, I am glad you were impressed; I was showing off for you." He winked and picked up a knife from the table, balancing it in his hand as he picked a fork.

Harry scowled and ignored the faint heat he could feel creeping up his neck. "So... err... no awesome animals?"

"Not for some time," Valerian said with an amused scoff.

"No cool shadow-movement?"

"No, pet. You've got many years yet until you may control such skills."

Harry pouted. "Well, fuck."

Valerian leered around a laugh, cutting himself a bite. "Offering, are you pet?" He only grinned wider as Harry promptly flushed.

"Val!" twenty year old Harry screeched, stomping through the halls. He passed a contingent of elves in the narrow hallway and ignored them as they jumped back out of the way. He had been in the citadel for five years, and by now everyone knew to avoid him when he was angry if only to avoid offending him and angering the Marquis. As a close friend and the rumored lover of the Lord of the realm, he was able to literally get away with murder (and _had,_ once or twice). He was slowly gaining respect of his own amongst the groups, but he was still considered little more than a hanger-on to Valerian. Not that he cared much usually. But this...

Green eyes blazed, a palpable aura of fury dancing around him. Harry stormed to Valerian's office and threw the doors open. "Val!"

Valerian blinked rapidly at his charge, tilting his head and setting down his quill. "What is it, pet?"

"Hurly-burly. It bloody well means hurly-burly!"

"What _are_ you talking about, my dear?"

Harry scowled darkly. "I met with the European werewolf delegation like you asked me to. I was introduced as Mylläkkä and they _laughed at me_! You said it meant chaos!"

"It does," he paused for a long moment, eyes clouding over. "Well, it did in the fifteenth century. Why, what is wrong?"

Harry let his head fall onto the desk before lifting it and letting it fall again. "Now I look like an idiot, running around with a name that translates to 'a minor disruption'. I want a new name!"

Valerian cuffed him. "No. Mylläkkä is who you are!"

"Mylläkkä is now wimpy! I don't want to run around to people snickering at my name! I _knew_ I shouldn't have let you talk me into going by anything else!"

"It is a strong name, was known as a strong name in the past, and so long as your adversaries do not speak Finnish, it will continue being a strong name! Now stop whining, you silly boy."

Harry let his head hit the table again.

"I want to cut my hair," Harry said as he pushed the lengthening strands over his shoulder, cursing as they fell back towards his plate.

Valerian glared at him over his goblet. "No."

"Come on Val! It's totally impractical to have hair this long when fighting – Dante keeps grabbing it to throw me! It gets in the way no matter what I'm doing and I look like a bloody girl half the time."

Valerian ignored him with practiced ease, brushing his fingers through his fringe and rolling his shoulders. "Tradition dictates that the length of your hair is corollary to your status here, and you will grow it out to at least the small of your back. I will not have my heir running around with the shaggy mess you came here with."

"I don't want it that short again, I just want it shorter than this! Can't I just keep it at the length Dante does? It's heavy like this and gets in my face."

"I will teach you a spell to keep it out of your face, but you will learn to deal with it. I have had mine this length for five hundred years, so I know you can manage with it. Dante is not a noble and is already respected for his prowess in fighting as well as his dignity. You are a rageful childe who is cozy with several powerful figures. It would do you well to make that known that you are more than that, and not just someone who coasts along on your connections."

Harry propped his head on his hand. "You're so difficult, Val."

"And you are impudent, pet."

"Ah, but you love me anyway, don't you?"

A dramatic sigh. "But how could I not, Mylläkkä my pet?"

Harry smiled. Though he supposed they were not in love with one another, they each held much affection and a healthy dose of lust between them. He knew their arrangement was temporary, but he truly cared for Valerian. He was unlike anyone Harry had ever met… a mix between playful, arrogant, and totally madcap that was extraordinary. At twenty two, what more could he ask for?

"So I can't cut it off?"

A glare was his only response.

By twenty three, Harry had thought that he had perhaps found happiness for the first time in his life, and he wouldn't give it up for anything short of the world. And now, at twenty five, he would be expected to follow through on that. The world was exactly what was expected of him, wasn't it? Harry shook himself from his reverie, speeding up his steps toward the solarium. No matter how sentimental he became at the last moment, he would be returning to 1995 in only a few hours. It had been the plan from the beginning, and if he backed out now his pride would cease to exist even if he hadn’t had the prophecy hanging over his head to deal with. He couldn't let his attachments hold him back. Fate was not kind to those who tried to ignore their destinies.

When Harry entered the room, Valerian grinned in greeting with shining eyes, causing a small smile to curve on Harry's lips unwillingly. Valerian flipped his hair over his shoulder and stood. "Ah, Mylläkkä, my pet. I was worried you had forgotten me."

"You know better. Dante decided I had been slacking in my training and proceeded to kick my arse in consequence."

Valerian threw him a rakish grin as he made his way towards him, circling Harry with unconcealed amusement. "I see nothing wrong with you. No bleeding wounds, no obvious deformities, only minor bruising to show for it—“ Harry scoffed at the description of his nearly full-body bruise as _minor_ , “—is much better than even a year ago, pet."

Harry gave him a helpless, genuine smile. "I just hope it will be enough."

Golden eyes closed off and Valerian sighed, motioning to the couch and taking a seat himself. After procuring some brandy for both himself and his protégé, Valerian stared into his glass and swirled it. "You will leave, then?"

"You know I have to."

A bitter laugh, unfamiliar and out of character. "Ah, yes. Savior of the Wizarding world and all that, no?"

"So I am." Harry sipped his drink, throat constricting from the strength of the aged alcohol. "But just who will I be saving?"

Harry knew he was no longer the Light scion he had been tempered to be, and he was completely prepared to take the Wizarding world by storm. A vampire hybrid by choice with an affinity for obscure Dark spells and a lust for a challenge, Harry was far from the 'Gryffindor Golden Boy' he had once been. He was no longer blinded by the optimism of his youth, nor was he afraid of what anyone would think of him; the world could go fuck itself so far as he was concerned. The only reason he was even bothering to return to the mortal realm was because of the damned prophecy and his doubly-damned pride. And beyond that, he knew without a doubt that Dumbledore had to be stopped.

Oh, he still couldn't really see the old man as _evil_ , per se. He was morally good and righteous and had wonderful plans for wizards and witches everywhere… but that was the problem. They were _his_ plans and _his_ dictation of right and wrong, and no one else was allowed to have their own definitions. A different opinion meant you were Dark, which in the minds of Dumbledore and his party was equated with evil immediately. His so-called goodness was run amuck, and the part of Harry that still wished to save everyone was incensed that it had been allowed to go on so long that way.

Dumbledore’s plans, doubtlessly well-intentioned, took no consideration to what they might inflict upon others in the end. Why had Sirius been allowed to be imprisoned without a trial? Dumbledore had been on the Wizengamut for decades, surely he could have demanded a truth spell of some kind be placed on the man? Veritaserum had not yet been invented at the time and even so was easily subverted, but there were still plenty of ways to ascertain if a person was lying. There was no need to get the story from him and check the truth of it, only to ask yes or no questions with a Verification spell in place. Easy. Yet it had not been done.

Voldemort was a madman, that much was true. He was quick-tempered and easily antagonized, megalomaniacal and cruel. He followed his emotions more than any sort of strategy, leaping off with the carelessness of a Gryffindor rather than relying on his Slytherin cunning. Even ignoring all that, Harry was more than wary to join forces with his parents' murderer. What would they think of him now? A vampire, setting out to destroy the man they had followed, about to join forces with their murderer. But Harry knew he stood no chance alone. He was a no one in the Wizarding world as he was now, and he would be immediately feared as a vampire and shunned as the former child hero of the Light who had 'abandoned' them. He needed support and the only place to get that was through Voldemort, no matter the consequences.

Beyond all that, though, there was the simple fact that he agreed with Voldemort's philosophies more than Dumbledore's. There was a lot there that needed work, but he did think they needed better protection from the muggles, did think they needed to return to their traditions, did think magic was being too regulated. He even agreed that wizards and witches _did_ need to stop procreating with muggles; it would end up leading to the death of magic. It was like allowing a prized purebred dog to run around with mutts... in a few generations, the pure blood would be gone, and with enough of that the race would die out. However, Voldemort's logic was flawed in his supposition that this had to mean the eradication of muggleborns. That was foolish and only stamped all the new blood from their race. But he digressed.

Dumbledore's path would end up ruining the Wizarding World… and Harry intended to be sure that wouldn't happen. It seemed his oft-mentioned hero complex and Gryffindor loyalty was unable to be smothered.

He sighed and met golden eyes. "You still won't come with me, then?"

"You know better," Valerian said softly. "I must watch things here. You are my successor; it is not as if I could leave this place in your hands if I was following you. And if I leave for any period of time, the upstarts will mob together and attempt to take over. We cannot have that, the safety of too many rests on us."

"You're right, I know you are. But..." Harry sighed, shifting his eyes to the floor. "There are so many unknowns in this. As far as I know, I could be dead long before I get back to this time—"

Valerian scowled. "Do you think I would allow you to go back and do this task of yours if you were dead in this time? No."

"I know, I know. You know all, you are omnipotent, woo..." Harry wiggled his fingers and gave Valerian a sarcastic grin.

He was surprised to see Valerian's face stay in its scowl, brows drawn tightly together. "I am far from omnipotent, pet, and I thought I had taught you that by now. In many ways, you have far more power than I do. I am bound by the laws of my position. The fates only grant me such overwhelming power so long as I abide their law, so my hands remain tied when I most wish to move them. They will not allow me to share what I know of the outside world, nor can I use my power to save any they deem should die. I cannot meddle with the affairs of mortals if it would alter their weave. I am still under heavy watch for having taken you away, as you know. They were angered with me for my interference. I fear another such instance would cause me to be stripped of my position, and I cannot fathom the turmoil that would cause. Do you not understand, Harry?"

Valerian never called him Harry, and that he had now sent a chill down Harry's spine. He turned his eyes up to the garden window, artificial sunlight soaking into him as his cocky smile melted away. "I know that Val, really I do. But still, we can't _know_ how things will turn out."

"That we cannot. Even I could not hope to. But even though discussion of mortal happenings is forbidden here, I am well aware of everything that happens outside, in the mortal realm as well as others. I would not send you to die, fates be damned."

Harry kept his eyes on the window and put his hand over Valerian's, linking their fingers. "Even you can't know the future, Val. The past perhaps, the present of course, but the future is anyone's game."

"It is good, then, that you plan to travel to the past, isn't it?" Valerian stood and met Harry's eyes, smirk twisting his lips as he fell into a familiar stance of overbearing annoyance. "Come, let's be off to dinner. I must give you a wonderful last meal to remember us all by."

"All right, sounds good." Harry stood with a smile overtaking him despite his brooding. "Thanks, Val."

Valerian paused, turning back and raising his eyebrow. "First you really must shower; you smell like a dead animal."

Harry promptly flipped him off.

Harry's hands tightened in black hair, a gasp escaping his throat. He would miss this, this strange connection the two of them shared. Every brush of lips ignited fires under his skin, every sure stroke of scarred hands sent chills.

Golden eyes glowed amber in the moonlight, their golden luster highlighted with different angles. Harry arched languidly against the familiar touch, rising up to let his teeth scrape against the bare shoulder before him. This was their last night together after seven years in their strange relationship; somewhere, deep inside of him, Harry knew that he would likely not be returning. And with every brush of skin against his, every whispered endearment in a dozen languages, Harry knew that Valerian knew it too. Someday he would come back if he could, but that would likely be many, many years in the future. It wouldn’t be the same.

Valerian and he had never had a normal relationship, from their unconventional beginning through to the present. They were complements to one another in many ways, able to fulfill parts of the other left untouched prior. They had an intimacy between them for as long as Harry could remember, from the very moment they met. It had been strange to the other inhabitants of the fortress, as Valerian was not known to take close companions. Lovers, yes, friends even… but no one had ever been allowed so constantly near as Harry.

Beginning with Valerian deciding to liberate of him of his virginity sometime after his seventeenth birthday and continuing whenever the mood struck one of them, their relationship had not been one of romantic love. The sparks between them were an inferno, burning through them harshly before leaving them in a quiet contentment found between the closest of friends. If they were to try to make it into more than it was it would consume them, burn them to a crisp.

Chilled in the night air, goosebumps rose across Harry's skin behind lightly trailing fingertips. His breath came in gasps as he was filled to breaking, muscles clenching as he sought to push himself closer yet to Valerian. He'd often wondered why neither of them could bring themselves to call what they had a relationship, why they didn't seem to ever fall in love. Why it never deepened to something more. He wondered if years in the future he would come back, finally agree to a full Change and stay beside the regal man in this strange distortion of a relationship they had. He would be happy, he thought. Happy enough.

But he wanted so much more in his life. Harry knew there was more out there. Something like a fire that never faded to embers, never burned so intensely that it left the participants turned to ash.

Climax came swiftly, pouncing on Harry without warning. His hands yanked his lover down against him, fingernails raking across his shoulders. He could feel Valerian shuddering against him, and Harry's tightly clenched ankles loosened around his waist.

Harry didn't know what the future held, but it didn't matter. He had that moment to live in, staring into golden eyes.

If there was one thing that had become clear to Harry in his decade-long tenure in the Sceaduwe Citadel, it was that there was a huge difference between living and surviving.

Survival was simply existence. It was the state of one's body not ceasing to function, of the mind being clear and useable. It was managing to live through another sunset and nothing more.

Living, on the other hand… Harry longed to truly live. The last ten years had been the closest to really 'living' that he had ever experienced, and he craved more of it. The prospect of actually enjoying existence was an ideal Harry coveted, and something he knew he had yet to fully experience. He nearly pitied himself for having to go back in time again. It was only the knowledge that he was leading back to this moment that had kept him from completely immersing himself and being free to live as he chose, after all.

He sighed and put a hand into his pocket, fingering the vials within it. The potions Valerian commissioned from Dougal Fraiser laid in small unbreakable vials containing the finished product created all those years ago when he'd arrived at Sceaduwe. Once they'd taken a rather disturbing amount of his blood, hair, and a chunk of flesh – the scar across his outer thigh was still livid years later – they had explained how the potion would work. With only a drop on his tongue of the murky black potion, aptly named 'Regression', he could appear as the age he was when the ingredients had been harvested. A second potion, fluorescent orange and named simply 'Reversion', would put him back to his natural state. The catch was that the Regression potion only lasted a week at a time, and he had to keep track of when he used it. He had enough for perhaps hundred transformations each way, and hoped he would not be forced to use it that often. He'd done a test of it already, and the transformations _hurt_.

Now he stood in the shadows of Knockturn Alley, hood drawn to hide his features as he waited for any known Death Eater to cross his path. He needed an easy ticket to Voldemort, and this had seemed the best course of action. Harry was not worried about being recognized in this form; no one expected Harry Potter to be a five foot ten adult with nearly waist length hair and inhumanly bright eyes. Even someone who knew him would be hard pressed to recognize him like this, and the Wizarding public at large only ever recognized his scar, which had faded without aggravation and was covered by the long fringe he had flattened to obscure half his face.

He was, instead, weary of anyone recognizing him for _what_ he was, which was sure to cause him problems no matter what Alley he was in. Vampires generally kept to themselves and wizards harbored an innate fear of them, born from a denial of not being at the top of the food chain. Simple human nature.

He had a little over thirty hours until the moment his younger self had left Privet Drive, and it was beginning to look like he would need every moment of it. He had already been reclining against he same decrepit wall for nearly an hour, no luck yet in finding a Death Eater. Had they all gone into hiding after the Department of Mysteries? He bloody well hoped not! With a sigh Harry made himself comfortable; this might take a while.

Lucius Malfoy was Not Happy, capitalized. His brush with Azkaban had left him shaken, his reputation in tatters, and his assets frozen. How _dare_ that Potter brat out him as he had? If it weren't for his connections in the Ministry, he would still be in some Merlin forsaken cell wallowing in his own filth! It was inhumane and absolutely disgusting, and of the many types of things Malfoys did not do, disgusting was one of the first on the list.

He walked regally beside his son as they wandered Diagon Alley, his head held high despite the obvious stares and whispers. He was shunned from high society now but damn them all if he would show it. These people were but bugs beneath his boots, and he would not give them the satisfaction of showing his fall from grace. Let them talk; when the Dark Lord ruled them they would cower at his feet.

He left Draco at Madam Malkin's to get measured for his new set of robes, intent on visiting Borgin in the interim. The rotund shop owner was looking after his Darker objects for the coming months, keeping them from the Ministry's prying eyes. There was a particular tome he needed from his own collection for a task set by his master, and no matter how Not Happy Lucius was at the moment, he preferred it to be himself than the Dark Lord.

When Voldemort was Not Happy, the world felt his wrath.

He pulled up the hood of his cloak as he entered the dark walkway connecting Diagon and Knockturn Alleys, caught up with his thoughts and not being nearly as observant as he should have been. In fact, Lucius had no time to react at all when he was pinned to a wall, his wrists to either side of his head and a shorter body pressed against him. The face of his assailant was hidden as he purred in Lucius's ear, a chuckle suffusing his voice. "Well hello, Lucius. Forgive me my terrible manners, but you came along and I need an audience with your master. Now."

Lucius sneered in the general direction of the person that held him, ending up with his face pressed into long black hair. "You dare believe that I would obey your command simply because you assaulted me? Unhand me, you filthy cretin."

Low, dark laughter was his response, hot breath fanning over his ear and making it very difficult not to shiver. "Ah, but Lucius… you wouldn't want anything to happen to your pretty little heir, now would you? I think it is in your best interests to take me to the Dark Lord, and quickly— before I lose my patience with your posturing."

Lucius did shiver this time, but it was not from any form of pleasure. To threaten him was something he could worm his way out of, but his son was another matter altogether. He was the future of the Malfoy name, and Lucius could not allow anything unpleasant befall him. And even more than that, Draco was _his son_ , and he would be damned if he'd let anyone lay a finger on him without retribution. Though self-preservation was foremost on any Slytherin's mind, as a father his son always came first. Despite that, though, the Dark Lord would surely have his head for what he was about to do. His sneer became a black glower. "I will see you dead for this."

"Ah," the mysterious man said in a low voice, pulling slightly away and locking unnaturally bright green eyes with mercurial silver. "We shall see about that, hmm?"

Lucius set his jaw and Apparated them both to Riddle Manor.

Harry was pleased. Not only had he finally found a Death Eater to take him to Voldemort, but said Death Eater had been Lucius Malfoy. Harry pushed back his curiosity over how Lucius had managed to evade Azkaban, amused with making Lucius squirm. He really couldn't stand the prat – he thought far too highly of himself and his ideals were warped into obscurity – but damn if he wasn't pretty. And Harry come to thoroughly enjoy toying with pretty things.

But now he had business to deal with, so Harry shot a silent _Petrificus Totalus_ at the pretty Lucius to keep him in place before yanking up his cloak's hood and moving into the Manor proper. He knew better than to believe the blond would not have retaliated against his rather unbecoming tactics to gain entry to the Dark Lord's base of operations, but he hadn't had any other choice in the matter. Killing his Death Eaters probably wasn't a good way into Voldemort's good graces, so this would have to do.

Harry rubbed at his forehead before he realized what he was doing, responding to the tingling itch that had started up. Being partially vampiric had seemed to negate whatever strange connection he had with Voldemort, sealing him away from any visions or pain, but it seemed that they were still linked however faintly. He let the sensation lead him, down one dark hallway and then another, through a room teeming with Death Eaters in full regalia. Some rushed papers from one hall to another, others stood in groups and chatted as if it were some social event to be at the Dark Lord's manor. Just what was the cumulative brainpower of this group? Harry sighed to himself, skirting along the edge of the room towards the previous bane of existence. Here he was just another black robed figure, and he never even got a second glance.

He wasn't sure how to approach this, really. On one hand, he could reveal himself for who he was. He had all sorts of bad premonitions about that, seeing Voldemort cackling as he pushed Harry forward like a trophy. His only other choice was to offer himself as a powerful vampire seeking an alliance. However, as much as he was loathe to be treated as a prize, he knew no one short of Harry Potter himself would have a chance at an equal partnership. Harry would be damned if he would ever kneel to anyone, let alone his snake-faced nemesis. Even as Harry approached the ornate oaken doors, he still had no real decision in mind. He was very bad at planning and preferred action to it, anyway.

It was a Gryffindor thing.

Voldemort's study was spacious and light, the sun streaming in through the wide windows that spanned one side of the room. It was much different than the dank little hole Harry had expected. What better for a snake, after all? But this wasn't what he would have expected, nice though it was. It was very much a surprise.

Not a surprise, however, was the sickly pale, reptilian Voldemort who sat behind his desk, irritably hacking away at papers with his quill. Harry shivered just a little, his face pulling into a moue of distaste. A nearly flat nose and waxen, pale skin that was deeply contrasted by his black robes. He made a frightening picture, hunched and snarling, the object of so many nightmares of Harry's life. And he was _icky_. However, Harry was not the child he had been, and he confident that he could at least hold off the powerful Dark Lord. A decade of intensive training by some of the best fighters and duelists in the Immortal realms had seen to that.

Hood still drawn, Harry was hardly a step into the room when he had thirteen and a half inches of yew trained on him, fiery crimson eyes snapping up to bore into him. It almost provoked another shiver. "You impudent fool, how dare you enter without knocking?"

"Now, now, Tom, no need to be so rude," Harry said easily, slipping into his usual demeanor and pushing back his childish thoughts.

Voldemort bristled, his sneer transforming into a snarl. "Who are you and how dare you address me as such?"

Harry drew down his hood and grinned at the glaring Dark Lord, ignoring the uncomfortable tingling the man's anger gave his scar. "Why not call me Mylläkkä for now, Mister Riddle?"

" _Crucio_!"

Harry sidestepped the spell just before it hit him. "Now that was rude. Where are your manners? Do you treat all your prospective allies as such?"

Voldemort glowered, fingers tight around his wand. "Just what do you want here?"

"An alliance," Harry said with a purr, walking toward Voldemort's desk. "You want to rule the Wizarding world, right? I can help you achieve that. You just need to get your priorities in order, is all."

"My priorities are fine, you impudent little wretch."

"Are they?" Harry fell back into a high-backed chair across from the desk, kicking his legs over the arm and propping up his head on a hand. "Since your resurrection, your plans have included little other than to defeat one Harry Potter. You are obsessed with the boy, with his defeat. You let it blind you to all other goals."

"You're a fool to come in here thinking to-"

Harry cut off Voldemort's retort as he continued, green eyes meeting crimson with a smirk. " _The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches… Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies…"_

Voldemort was furious now, Harry knew. Crimson eyes were ignited with rage, and Harry wondered for a minuscule moment if looks really could kill. But this was important, he couldn't be inane. This was the crux of what he brought to the table, and Voldemort was damned well going to hear him out. He stood from his chair, wand out and inches from Harry's face. "How do you know the prophecy?!"

Harry swallowed whatever fear he hadn't been able to train himself not to feel, continuing without breaking eye contact. " _And the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not… And either must die at the hand of the other, for neither can live while the other survives… The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches, born as the seventh month dies._ "

Voldemort had stopped trying to retort, wand arm dropping and eyes narrowing. He looked toward the back wall for long minutes, and Harry could only assume he was processing the contents of the prophecy. He could understand the shock; he remembered his own. Harry stayed silent, amusing himself by watching the play of emotions over Voldemort's face. It was strange to see such relatively normal expressions on his face, thoughtful and contemplative. Voldemort sat back again with the air of someone very tired, running a thin-fingered hand over his face."Mylläkkä you said your name was? Only the old man knows the prophecy, how did you get it?"

Harry hummed in the back of his throat. "I'll get to that. Curiosity begs me to asks something, though. Assuming the prophecy I just told you is the truth, what will you do with your new information?"

"Kill the boy, of course. Did you think that informing me that the boy is the only one who could kill me would keep me from plotting to kill the brat?" Voldemort was sneering again, a much more familiar expression.

Harry feigned nonchalance. "Well, at least you are thinking more deeply into its meaning than I thought you would. I thought you might be like Dumbledore and immediately see it as one of you had to die."

Voldemort shook his head and leaned back in his chair. "No, the wording is tricky but leaves plenty of loop holes. The use of 'survive' and 'live' is telling. I just must kill the boy before I can find a true semblance of life."

Harry nearly gave a true smile at that, swinging his legs around to sit up. "You're far less insane than I was led to believe you were. You are almost correct."

A dangerous glower was his immediate response. "What exactly do you think you mean by ' _almost_ '?"

Harry leaned forward, sitting up in his seat now. "As you have assumed, living and surviving are very different things. But just because the boy has the _power_ to defeat you, why kill him off? Would it not be smarter for your reign to have him as your equal and work together to learn to 'live'? If he is powerful enough to defeat you, surely he would be an asset."

"The brat would never see past Dumbledore's machinations. He is far too enamored by the Light."

Harry smirked. "Are you so sure, Tom? Say that he had wizened up—"

Voldemort's eyes narrowed now, and Harry was pleased to feel the figurative light bulb appear as he flicked his eyes across Harry. "Just who are you?"

"I knew the genius Tom Marvolo Riddle would put the pieces together quickly," Harry said with a genuine smile. "It's surprisingly good to see you again, Tom. It's been a while— for me at least."


	3. Modus Vivendi // a compromise or agreement allowing conflicting parties to coexist peacefully

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoops! Missed a chapter! 3 and 4 are new.

Harry glowered at Voldemort as he _finally_ stopped shooting off curses at him, Harry's own secondary wand still pointing towards him. Upon putting the pieces of Harry's identity together, Harry had reassessed his previous conclusion of Voldemort being somewhat reasonable when he had immediately began firing several very nasty Dark curses at him in succession. Initially, Harry had just dodged and put up shields, but after ten minutes of being fired at like he had a bullseye painted on his forehead – which, all technicalities taken into consideration, he supposed he did… but that was beside the point – he had finally gotten fed up and retaliated.

That had actually been what had stopped the impromptu duel, surprisingly.

He had fired one of his favorite hexes, an obscure spell that would painfully turn a person's skin inside-out without actually killing them, reattaching said skin on, just with the nerves and capillaries exposed. It left the person looking really quite gruesome and very easy to injure further. The counter spell was just as obscure and even more painful.

"Where did you learn that spell? The only documented record of it is in one of Le Fey's diaries…"

Harry raised an eyebrow at the expression on Voldemort's face. It was eager and intense, and Harry couldn't help but feel an answering excitement. _Finally_ , someone who could appreciate the obscurities of some of his favorite spellworks. Most immortals had no use for Wizard magic, so he hadn't had a single person beyond Dante to discuss such things with. "Yes, yes, it's in the _Fata Morgana_ , page four hundred…"

"And seventeen, yes!" Voldemort, despite the deformities of his form, looked somehow young with a sharp, excited grin on his face, clearly fascinated that someone else had read the rare tome. "Did you see the entrail-rearranging spell on six hundred and seventy two?"

Harry nodded emphatically, lowering his wand and returning the grin. "It's a bit risky to use, though, since the slightest mispronunciation could wind up castrating you. Not a chance I'm willing to take, thank you. Have you read _Horrible, Hostile Hexes_ by Merwyn the Malicious? There is a similar, less risky spell on page five hundred and seventy two that is fascinating."

"There is still a copy of that? Weren't most of his works lost after his death?"

"I was gifted one of the last remaining copies for my twentieth birthday. You could borrow it if you'd like."

At the same moment, both wizards seem to realize how terribly out of character they had been acting and pulled themselves back together, warily taking their original seats on either side of Voldemort's desk, disarray of the office notwithstanding. Harry kicked away a large piece of an end table from the arm of his chair, settling comfortably across it once more. Voldemort sighed and ran his hand over his bald head, eyeing Harry critically. "I must say, your knowledge of the Dark arts lends your story some credence."

"It's been ten years for me, Tom. I've been trained in combat, dueling, and magics forgotten by humans. I finally woke up after the Department of Mysteries fiasco and saw how little control I had over my own life. I made a change. I finally feel ready to confront my destiny… and I believe that can be best accomplished if you and I work together." Harry tucked a stay wisp of black hair behind his ear before throwing Voldemort a grin. "And I'll let you borrow the book."

Voldemort pursed his lipless mouth, crimson eyes searching the man in front of him for long moments in silence before he bowed his head just the barest bit. "I suppose it would behoove me to give this a try, Potter. I daresay you've grown acceptably Slytherin in your time away."

Harry merely grinned. "Ah, but Tom, I've always had it in me."

Crimson eyes rolled and Voldemort steepled his fingers. "Why do you insist on referring to me by that plebian name? I despise it, you know."

"Because regardless of your wishes, it is your name. If you really insist, I will call you Voldemort, but I would prefer Tom. I don’t say it to mock or demean you as Dumbledore does, it’s just _your name_."

"It doesn't matter," he said with a wave of his hand. "A name is just a name. It hardly bothers me when it isn’t being used to patronize, for all that it disgusts me. However, if you call me that in front of my Death Eaters, I will Cruciate you out of existence. Now, what are these grand plans of yours? It must be something magnificent to have brought you all the way here with such a feeble plan."

"Hogwarts," Harry stated simply, ignoring the hit on his planless entrance. "No offense meant of course, but you've not been very enterprising in the years since your rebirth. The Ministry and Hogwarts are the two most important institutions in the British magical world, and if we can get them… we can have Britain. And Hogwarts is the more important of the two, truly; besides holding the future of Wizarding kind and a unique leverage over all who have students currently boarding there, it is also the seat of Dumbledore’s power."

Voldemort nodded slowly. "I admit my priorities may have seemed rather single-minded, but being left without a body for over a decade can leave quite a grudge," he said dryly, lacing his fingers and propping his chin on them. There was a dark look in his eyes that seemed almost shifty; Harry was sure there was more to the story than that. Not that he was surprised that Voldemort would not tell him everything. "However, I have been slowly placing my men and women within the ministry, seeding my people into the infrastructure. It did stunt my plans, however, when you managed to out Lucius last month."

Harry smirked before laughing suddenly. "Oh my, Lucius isn't going to be happy. I left him petrified in your entrance hall."

"You— petrified Lucius?"

"Well, I needed to get here _today_ , so I couldn't wait and find a more proper way of contacting you. So, I accosted our pretty Mr. Malfoy in Knockturn Alley and asked him as nicely as I am capable for him to bring me here. Needless to say, he wasn't happy with me, and I had to petrify him before he retaliated."

Voldemort raised one brow. "I would rather you not attack my followers, Potter."

"You _can_ call me Harry, you know," he retorted, the corner of his lip twitching. "But of course I am not going to run around assaulting your Death Eaters now that we have an agreement. You are aware that I will not wear your mark or bow to you, aren't you?"

The arch brow lowered and Voldemort's jaw set in a smothered scowl. "I thought that would be unlikely. You and your Gryffindor stupidity. While I must admit that this displeases me greatly, I think forcing you or killing you would only work against me in the end. Am I correct, Little Gryffindor?"

"Ah, but this is my Slytherin pride talking, not my admittedly vast Gryffindor sensibilities. I refuse to submit to anyone."

Voldemort's lipless mouth curved in a wicked smirk. "That was rather suggestive. Proving you wrong would be entertaining."

"Ah, now _that_ is a different story all together," Harry said with a small chuckle. "But, no offense meant Tom, but you're not really my type. Scaly isn't attractive."

Voldemort didn't seem to take offense, merely waving his hand as his grin faded. "How do you plan to take Hogwarts?"

"From the inside, of course."

Voldemort waited for elaboration with a pointed look.

Harry leaned forward, propping his elbows on Voldemort's desk. "I will return to my relatives' home right after I left it and return to Hogwarts for my sixth year with the help of the Reversion and Regression potions. I will play the part of Dumbledore's Golden Boy and plan my assault from the interior, and I will take Dumbledore down by the end of the year."

"When will you be missed?"

"I need to return to my relative's house by noon tomorrow to avoid anyone realizing anything is amiss."

"That's bothersome. You will need to be introduced to my Death Eaters, and we still have much planning to do. I would like to hear your ideas for the future."

"That is something we really must discuss, Tom. Your pointless killings will only pull the fight in the Light's favor. While I agree that a magical being with a muggle dilutes our bloodlines and increases the existence of squibs, why do you hold such animosity towards muggleborns? You should know I can't condone that."

Crimson eyes narrowed. "What do you think the muggles would do if they found out about us? We would become targets for them, because we are different and a threat. We cannot risk exposure."

"And making yourself known with suspicious deaths across the English countryside is staying hidden?" said Harry. "Yes, the muggles would persecute us, that is a given. Their thoughts have changed little since the days of the Salem Witch Trials, and I don't doubt how they would react to learning magic was real. But Tom, you should know better than most the power of muggle denial. They would not accept its existence without proof… and how will they get that proof?"

"It is not the absence or presence of proof that is the problem. It is the fools in the Light who think that muggles can be their friends that are the problem! With idiots like that running around, we'll be exposed within a few years and have to fight a war that the muggles know they are participating in. I prefer extermination," Voldemort said, voice tight.

"We have advanced since the seventeenth century, and they cannot find us if we do not wish to be found. We have muggle repelling charms that require special spells to circumvent that only certain people know… they cannot find us, Tom. Even if every muggleborn suddenly decided to reveal our existence, they would not be able to find us. They would have to drop a bomb on their own city to rid themselves of us. I am sure the cumulative brilliance of our people can come up with new, better spells for secrecy and keeping our secrets our own, as well. Modified Vows or the like; it shouldn’t be an impossible task to make the Statute into something more contractual."

Voldemort tipped his head in concession. "Be that as it may, muggleborns dilute the bloodlines as much as muggles do. It will mean the end of the Wizarding world."

"How do they dilute it? A wizard is a wizard, Tom. What is better, two magical people bearing children, or purebloods continuing only to breed amongst themselves and interbreeding so badly that children begin to have deformities? Or worse yet, the ostracized purebloods like the Weasleys dipping into the muggle gene pool and weakening magic to nonexistence?"

Voldemort leaned back in his chair and hummed thoughtfully, taking a long time to formulate his answer. Harry let him, watching the expressions cross the reptilian face. The silence was surprisingly comfortable, and Harry was quite amazed at how easily he was relaxing around what had once been his greatest enemy. He didn't have the time to contemplate it much, though, as Voldemort shrugged. "In lieu of further research into the matter I can hesitantly concede to rethink that aspect of my aims, but you know the Death Eaters will not be happy."

"Am I supposed to care? They are your subordinates, no? They will obey or you can throw around your Cruciatus until they do as you say. Popular opinion has rarely influenced you."

"I suppose you are correct," Voldemort said with an amused smile. "How will we meet once you are in Hogwarts? Surely your absence would be noted."

"It would normally, but so long as I do not _often_ disappear at night, I can manage to get away."

"Severus could help with that."

"No," Harry said quickly, perhaps a bit too much so.

"And why not? He is my only marked Death Eater within Hogwarts, surely you could use the assistance."

"I—" Harry broke off, annoyed at himself. Despite his dislike for the snarky git, he didn't want to get him killed. After all, there was no _real_ proof that the Potions Master was on Dumbledore's side. He could be playing the Light just as easily as he could be playing the Dark. "I am not in the habit of trusting double agents. He spies for you against the Light, he spies for Dumbledore against the Dark. It is difficult to know what he truly believes. I don't want him knowing my identity."

Voldemort looked skeptical but nodded anyway. "Fine. But you need to assure yourself of his loyalties, and I expect you to deal with the matter depending on what you discover."

Harry nodded. "Yes. If he was a liability I would not hesitate to make him a meal," Harry said with a smirk that barely exposed one fang.

Spider-like fingers tapped a tattoo on the desk. "This brings up another question. How are you going to hide your Vampirism within Hogwarts? Even with both the Regression and Reversion potions, your fangs and blood cravings will not be affected."

Harry nodded. "I will make do. Since my godfather's death was only a month ago as far as anyone near to me is concerned, it will not seem suspicious that I do not smile widely enough to reveal my teeth or if I take long walks alone."

Voldemort tipped his head. "His death was unfortunate; it was not intended. Bellatrix would have used Avada Kedavra had she wished him dead. I did not wish to give you any reason to be more daring in your vendetta and Black was more harmless than not."

"I refuse to forgive her for her mistake, but I do not blame anyone for it. I have had many years to grieve, and though I miss him… I do not think he would accept me as I am now. It is— for the best." Harry shook his head and quirked a forced smile. "So, world conquest?"

"Don't be daft." Voldemort's eyes rolled skyward.

"Well, I really don't understand what it is you're going for. I understand taking out your opposition and overtaking the ministry… but what in the hell is your ultimate goal?"

"To be unopposed. To be known for my strength and to be regarded as the icon I should be—"

"Your ego is smothering me, Tom."

The snake-like man glared before sitting back in his chair, eyes up towards the ceiling. "The structure of Britain is disturbing. It is corrupt and out of control."

"So, instead, you will build it in your vision?"

"Precisely. I will make sure the muggles never have the chance to stand against us, make sure that wizards will never die out. Our blood will stay strong and thus we shall prevail in the end, a stronger race. We will restore the rites and practices of our forefathers to ensure future generations cherish magic as they should. Under my guidance, Wizards will become great once more—"

"Your head is swelling again, Tom."

"Potter, I will spell you into oblivion if you don't shut the hell up."

Harry shrugged a shoulder and smirked. "I'm only taking the piss out of you, Tom. So, then… let's talk war. Because you know that is what it will be?"

"Just because you're a buffoon doesn't mean I am. I will call in my Death Eaters in an hour. Until then, we plan."

Harry pulled the hood of his cloak forward to shadow his face once more as he stood behind Voldemort; the man was waiting on Wormtail to arrive so he could call the rest of his Death Eaters. They had managed to make a lot of plans with compromises on both their parts, and Harry was shocked to find that he actually worked well with Tom Riddle. Like the older man had said all those years ago in the Chamber of Secrets: they really were a lot alike. They had much in common now that Harry was not blind to the world around him, and their personalities meshed together pleasantly.

For the first time in years Harry found someone other than Valerian that he enjoyed talking and joking with, feeling strangely at ease in the company of his parents' killer. No, he wouldn't be hugging the man and declaring his love for him anytime soon, but he had found real intelligent common ground with Voldemort.

As Pettigrew slunk into the long hall, Harry couldn't hold back a feral growl from escaping his throat. Voldemort raised an eyebrow toward him and Harry hissed quietly, not letting Pettigrew hear as he approached. _//I want this one dead, Tom. I can concede Bellatrix, but I_ will _kill this one.//_

Voldemort cut crimson eyes toward barely exposed green. _//Fine. But can it wait until after you have fulfilled your plans? He is useful to me in the short term whilst I must remain in hiding.//_

Harry only nodded and bowed his head again, purposely not looking in the rat's direction to quell the violent urges he evoked in him. Voldemort's voice once again took on its hissing, raspy quality as he ordered Pettigrew to his knees so he could activate the Dark Mark, making Harry smirk maliciously as whimpers left the traitor's throat.

The results were nearly instantaneous. Robed and masked figures began appearing in the hall, immediately kneeling in supplication. Voldemort's eyes flickered indolently across his followers, cowing them as they peeked curiously at the figure to Voldemort's left. Harry stood still but watched Voldemort through his lashes as the Dark Lord looked over those who arrived. It was nearly fifteen minutes before Voldemort looked satisfied with the turnout, glancing around at several dozen faceless Death Eaters.

"We have gained a new ally," he hissed loudly enough for them to hear, his hand waving toward where Harry stood. Harry resisted the urge to titter at the overly drawn out hisses that were heard even in a sentence without any S's. "He is powerful and is to be treated with the same respect you give me. I will not stop him from killing you if you have such a limited mental capacity as to challenge him. He goes by Mylläkkä, and with him, we shall turn the tides of this war! Soon we shall take both Hogwarts and the Ministry of Magic away from the simpering fools of the Light."

Harry stepped forward and pushed his hood back from his face, revealing himself to the assembled minions. He very nearly grinned as he saw one form stiffen painfully, a few wisps of white-blond hair giving away its owner's identity. Lucius was obviously displeased, and Harry looked forward to rubbing his snooty, patrician nose in it.

Harry inclined his head to the group and stepped back again, not needing to say anything to the group. Voldemort listened to reports from his members and gave new tasks, and Harry just watched silently over the proceedings. It was interesting, the difference between the man he had spent the afternoon bargaining with and the man who now was purposely making his followers shrink away in fear of him. It was nearly comical. He ignored the periodic dark looks that Lucius Malfoy was sending him along with the rageful ones from Bellatrix Lestrange. The woman was not pleased with someone being closer to her Lord in favor than she. It didn't bother Harry; so long as the foolish witch didn't try to stand against him he would leave her be.

Harry pulled himself back to attention as Voldemort's voice called out to Snape, beginning a plan they had decided on to discover the man's true allegiance. "Severus, come here. The rest of you may go."

As the loud cracks of apparition filled the room, Harry lowered himself to sit on the edge of the dais, sprawling back with his arms holding him up. He sent an amused look to Voldemort, who snorted at Harry's lack of dignity. The younger man shrugged and grinned, flicking his eyes towards Snape as he cautiously approached the platform and knelt.

"Yes, my Lord?"

"This year we will be setting our sights on Hogwarts. You will eventually play an intricate role in this, but for now I will just remind you to get as much information as possible. And tell the old man nothing of our upcoming plans."

"Yes, my lord," Severus said, bowing until his mask nearly touched the ground.

"You may go."

As Severus stood, Harry couldn't help a small chuckle from escaping him. "Tom, you're too good at the cowing-into-submission thing. Do you give lessons? Because I would really have fun with that talent."

Voldemort scowled. "What did I tell you about calling me that infernal name in front of others, brat?"

"Ah, it's just Snape. No harm, really."

Crimson eyes rolled, and Harry was pleased to see a lack of any real anger in Voldemort's eyes. "I should really hex you."

"Yes, you probably should. But then I would be angry, and I would not let you borrow my book."

"Must you hang that over my head?"

"Yes, it's ever-so entertaining."

Severus's eyes flicked back and forth in morbid fascination of this man who dared to… banter? Bantering with the Dark Lord! Either this Mylläkkä was terribly insane or just very lucky to be alive. And was Voldemort _amused_ by him? Severus had an ominous premonition of doom in that moment, and wondered over what was to come for the Wizarding world.

Harry grinned when Severus finally Apparated away, stretching his back and standing to join Voldemort as the latter exited the hall. "Well, that was fun."

Voldemort didn't bother looking at him. "Potter, I swear you are going to be the death of my sanity."

"Ah, but Tom…" Harry began as he sashayed past the Dark Lord, throwing a wicked smirk over his shoulder, "the fun has only just begun."


	4. Ennui // a feeling of listlessness and dissatisfaction arising from a lack of occupation or excitement

Harry closed his eyes as he drank from the unconscious man he had accosted, his grip on the muggle’s forearm tight as the pulled blood from the man's wrist. It had been a while since he had had the time for a human meal, and he always managed to forget just how much more pleasant a warm person was than an animal or a substitution drink. He reveled in the steady staccato beat of the man's heart in his ears, filling his mind at the same time as the blood slowly coursed down his throat.

Harry was careful to pull away as he felt the heavy beating of his victim's heart began to slow, ensuring the man would live through dawn. So long as Harry managed to feed nightly, he had no need to kill to gain his meals. Despite all the changes Harry had undergone physically and mentally, he still didn’t care to take life pointlessly. It was a given for his species and in the path he now walked that he would kill, and that hardly bothered Harry anymore. However, if he did not _need_ to kill, what was the point?

He snatched the man's wallet, removing the money and tossing it into the dirt next to his head. Now when the man awoke he would assume he had been mugged, have a story to tell his coworkers, and hardly ever think of it again. Harry didn't need the money, but he found it more intelligent not to give the muggles any reason for paranoia. He pressed the back of his hand to his lips to assure himself they were free of blood and walked quickly from the alley, slipping into the shadows and avoiding any more contact with early risers. The darkness sheltered him from naïve eyes as he slipped to a side street, preparing to Apparate so he could return to his so-called home.

His teeth gritted at the thought, a reflexive reaction to any thought of the Dursleys. He had no wish to return to the Dursleys' home, but he had already conceded that he had no choice. So far as anyone in this year was concerned, it was still a week to his sixteenth birthday. As far as they knew, he was nothing but an angst-ridden, though famous, teenage boy with the weight of the world on his shoulders. He had to remain in the 'care' of his relatives for a few more weeks, until Dumbledore finally saw fit to allow him to go to Grimmauld Place. Not that that was something Harry really looked forward to… but somehow, after all these years, he thought it might be nice to be near to Sirius, even if only in spirit.

Glancing around to make sure he would remain unseen, Harry concentrated on the park a block from 4 Privet Drive, disappearing with a loud crack. When he opened his eyes, he wrinkled his nose at the site of many of his least fond memories and hid himself behind a tree while grimacing.

Casting out his senses and finding himself utterly alone and unwatched, Harry closed his eyes as he put one drop of the disgusting looking black potion under his tongue, his fingers fumbling on the bark of the tree for purchase as the changes began. Regressing _hurt_ through every fiber of his body, a wave of searing heat tearing through him. He could feel his skin shrinking even as his bones ground together, his muscles realigning themselves on a smaller workspace. His body would lose a lot of its strength and muscle mass in the transformation, but he should be better off than he had been before - he _was_ a vampire now, even if that didn’t grant him extraordinary abilities wholesale.

Harry gasped as the pain finally ebbed, pain-induced tears filling his eyes as he fought to catch his breath. The transformation had brought him to his knees and Harry sighed heavily, his returned short, unruly bangs lifting with the force. He popped his joints as he stood, feeling out of place several inches lower to the ground and much scrawnier than he had been in years. He flexed his arms with a scowl, annoyed at his younger self for being so utterly weak.

Already doubt was washing over him, fear surfacing as he wondered whether or not he could pull off this deception. Voldemort had asked him the same thing, but Harry had been much more sure of himself the night before. He had changed over the years into a secure young man who hated being looked down upon; Hogwarts would be bad enough between his vapid admirers, jealous classmates, and ignorant Slytherins, but how could he put up with the Dursleys without hexing them into oblivion?

He had seriously considered the Imperius before remembering the Blood Wards. Not that they did any good when Voldemort had used his blood in the resurrection process, of course, but it seemed Dumbledore had been counting on _faith_ and _love_ and whatever other twaddle he had dreamed up to keep his precious Golden Boy safe. It was annoying to know he was being forced to stay somewhere so vile when all the reasons he had to be there were now null and void. Unfortunately, the wards _did_ monitor all magic done within a radius of the home, and casting _Imperio_ on his bumbling muggle relatives was likely to be noticed.

Threats however… Harry smirked. Vernon would never allow anyone in that house to contact anyone in the Wizarding world, so they would have no one to tell if he made it clear that he would not take the crap they had been giving him for the last fifteen years. This thought brought new vigor to Harry as he crossed over the manicured lawn in front of the house, sadistic thoughts rolling through his mind as he heard the loud tread of Vernon’s heavy frame moving about the downstairs. So what if he would have to go a few weeks without so much as a levitation charm? He was not some weak, pureblood noble who couldn't exist without magic.

He opened the door without bothering to be quiet, smirking sinisterly as Vernon rounded on him with his fat face already darkening in rage as he saw Harry leaning nonchalantly against the doorframe.

"Boy!" Vernon bellowed, eyes narrowed. "Where did you go?! You are to go to your room once breakfast is served, you little—"

Harry chuckled and shrugged one shoulder. "I was out." He kicked the door shut behind him and strolled up to Vernon without fear.

Harry didn't bother stepping away as Vernon leaned his fat face inches from him, rage purpling his cheeks and spittle flying from his mouth. "You see here, boy! No matter what those freaky friends of yours had to say, no one will stop me from keeping order in my own home! That horrible, wretched godfather of yours is dead and your freaks haven’t stepped up over the years before now—"

Harry calmly took a step back, letting his grin widen as the man’s rant faded to a choking burble as fangs were exposed. He was deeply amused to watch the vast amounts of blood that had gathered in the fat man's face drain away. "Now, Vernon, that’s a lot of assumptions you’re making. For one thing, you assume that I could not have met any others protective enough to look after my wellbeing since you last checked. For another, you have the idea that I need protection from your heavy hand these days.” Harry's grin dropped and his eyes narrowed as he unleashed his hold on his much-developed magical core. A muggle would not feel it as a wizard would, but the full force of a wizard of his power was still suffocating, perhaps even more so to one unused to more than the barest hint of magic.  Vernon crumpled in the face of it, hitting his knees and cowering away. It was a pathetic sight and his lip lifted in a sneer in reponse. "I don't need magic to make you and your family wish you'd never been born."

Vernon sputtered. "W-Why you—!"

“Understand me, Vernon. You will go about your life as if I do not exist. If you raise a hand or even your voice in my direction this summer, I will start by helping your dearest Dudders wind up tragically missing. There will be not a shred of evidence to let you put the blame onto me. Then, your lovely Petunia might find herself drowning so deeply in grief that—well, I think you understand where I’m going with all this, don’t you Uncle?”

The combination of his words and magic had left Vernon a shaking, stuttering mess, so with no more than a smirk and a jaunty wave he slipped back out the front door.  He had wondered several times over the years about why Vernon would have left the many locks lining his bedroom door unlocked that fateful morning, since he hadn't forgotten in years to do so after Harry had once more retreated to nap between making breakfast and doing his daily chores. He'd decided in the end that he had probably had a hand in it. Now Vernon wouldn't bother, since as far as he was concerned, Harry was no longer in the house.

Harry smirked and leapt up to the roof of the 'perfect' little suburban home, pulling his invisibility cloak from his pocket and wrapping it around himself. It wouldn't do for one of the Order guards to actually see him up there, after all. He would rest until afternoon when his younger self left.

 

 

Voldemort signed the form in front of him with a flourish, his hands moving automatically across the parchment. He was on autopilot lately, having had little to do since the Department of Mysteries fiasco but sign forms and read reports. There was nothing important enough to require his presence, and torturing his Death Eaters was getting blasé. He had indulged himself with casting a Cruciatus for every infraction, relishing in having corporeal form and having access once again to his magic, but the novelty had quickly worn off.

Just as life had gotten seemingly too boring to bear, in had popped Harry bloody Potter of all people. The Boy Wonder had appeared out of nowhere aged ten years, the malnourished child suddenly a breathtaking man with a mean streak to rival his own. They had planned for hours on strategy for overtaking the Wizarding world systematically, chipping away at the Ministry slowly while taking out their biggest opposition in one fell swoop; without Albus Dumbledore the Order of the Phoenix would be shattered. And before they would have any chance to regroup, Harry Potter would be revealed as the partner to the Dark Lord, sealing the Wizarding world's fate.

He didn’t truly care about no longer killing off the muggleborns; it had, after all, been an easy ploy to gain followers in his early years. He could see where Potter was coming from. As half-bloods, the two of them were magically superior to all of the purebloods currently alive, and there were many who touted their purity while being little better than squibs.

Voldemort ran his fingers slowly over the slightly scaly skin of his wrist, watching the nearly translucent skin darken under his touch, dark hair growing in and shrinking away in the span of a moment, a small beauty mark appearing only to pale and disappear once more. He let a wry smile cross his mouth as the pigment faded completely. There was something about the Potter boy, something that resonated with his very being. He didn't know why he suddenly felt a kinship with the boy; was it this bond they had? Was the scar he had left upon the boy's brow the connection he felt to him? Was it deeper than that? Something instinctive between people, a common link between like souls?

He had no belief in silly things like soul mates, but he surely understood that some people matched better with others. He had found few people in his life he connected to, few who understood his background and motivations. Potter understood, though. They were so alike, almost to a frightening degree. _And the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal_ indeed. But Potter, for years, had buried those parts of himself behind the image of a bumbling Gryffindor fool.

Voldemort loved a challenge, and Potter was the most interesting thing to come along in over a decade. Though he was no longer trying to kill the boy, he had a sinking feeling that Potter was going to continue consuming his life, one way or another.

 

 

Harry was bored. He wandered the back garden aimlessly, discreetly ruining Aunt Petunia's tulips. Harry knew he had to be bored when the only thought running through his mind was that he wished Petunia had petunias for him to trample instead. His mind often wandered to the most inane subjects when he had nothing better to do.

It had been weeks since he had returned to his relatives' home, and he was sick of having absolutely nothing to do. He spent the early morning hours going through katas and sparring against the air, hoping to hone the sub-par body he was stuck in. In the evenings he read the single book he had managed to bring without being shrunk, an interesting look at the life of Grindelwald that he had yet to read.

Dudley was the only one who was stupid enough to ever bother him, and even he was wary after the first few times Harry had bested him. Having all several hundred pounds of oneself flipped over your scrawny cousin was enough to strike fear into even the most brainless. Aunt Petunia ignored him when she wasn't sending him wrathful gazes, and Vernon simply blanched in his presence and lumbered away. They didn't question him when he left to have his daily meal nor did they seem to even notice that he never needed to eat proper food. This was not to say that he _didn't_ , he just did not feel the need to eat the low-fat, low-carb food his aunt prepared for Dudley’s newest diet.

Harry had received a letter from Dumbledore weeks prior saying that because of Sirius's death, he would not be brought to Grimmauld Place until the final week of summer. Harry couldn't decide if this was a good thing or not. On one hand, he was glad not to have had to dive into his role so quickly, but on the other he had hoped to get the hell out of the hole he was stuck in. It was finally the day that someone would arrive to take him to the dreary headquarters, but time seemed to have slowed to a standstill in the meantime. Harry sighed and lay down in the shadowed grass of the yard; no one was home to say anything, anyway.

Harry worried about his return to Hogwarts. He had missed his friends terribly over the years, sentimental as it was. But he knew better than to think they would remain his friends once the truth was out. He loved his friends sincerely even with the time that had passed and knew – despite the nagging or jealousy or the times things had turned sour between them – that they loved him in return. He also knew, though, that they were just as brainwashed as most of the Wizarding populace when it came to 'good' and 'evil'.

Ron would be scared to death. Harry was a vampire, after all, so Ron's ingrained fear would override any common sense the boy possessed. Even once the shock wore off, Harry knew Ron would scorn him for his strength. He wouldn't even need to hear the bit about Harry's ties to the Dark Lord to utterly loathe him. Hermione would take the revelations in stride, but she would reason that he had been rash and was obviously just not _listening_ to the ever-wise Dumbledore. She would look up every available book on vampires, research everything about him, and then nod with her bushy curls bouncing and drag him off to the Headmaster for him to indoctrinate Harry back to the proper way of thinking. He hated to admit that he had grown apart from those he loved most, but he doubted that they could ever accept him for what and who he had become. He would just have to treasure the time he would have with them before the truth came to light.

He was drifting nearly on the verge of sleep when he felt a visitor arrive. Harry raised an eyebrow towards a rotted hole at the bottom of the fence, not bothering to rise as an amused smirk overtook his face. A head barely  managed to poke its way through the opening, body trying to follow but quickly halting once it became obvious that the hole was far too small.

_//Did Tom miss me so much that he had to send you, or has something gone wrong?//_

Nagini gave an annoyed, wordless hiss in response, baring her fangs at him. With experience, he’d long since learned to notice the underlying sibilance and breathy hissing that denoted Parseltongue was being spoken rather than English, but it amused him that the scorn in her voice almost totally drowned out all of that as she squirmed. _//I would answer you if you weren't just sitting there rather than assisting me! Master was so right about you, impertinent brat. Help me!//_

Harry chuckled before obliging, knocking away some of the rotting wood and widening the opening. _//Is that better, your Highness?//_

She huffed as well as a snake could, which came out in an agitated, breathy hiss. Slithering the rest of the way through the fence, she curled up in the shadows, as aware as Harry of the Order guard in the front garden. She tasted the air lightly and hunkered into her coils. _//Master wished to request a meeting tonight before the school year begins.//_

 _//Can't,//_ Harry said with a frown, eyes skating towards the house. _//The Order guards have been actually doing their job this year, and I can't risk being noticed leaving. I can hardly sneak away for a quick meal. Besides, they're moving me today, so I'll be under the Fidelius and even more watched than usual.//_

Nagini was quiet for several moments. _//Master says he wishes to meet with you the night after your first classes, then.//_

Harry raised an eyebrow in surprise. _//You can talk to him?//_

_//He can see and hear what I do if he chooses, and can command me from any distance.//_

Harry nodded amicably, but his mind raced. He had never heard of a spell or ritual that could do such a thing. Unless Voldemort was possessing her while she was before him then controlling her on her journey, there was not a way that one could peek into the mind of another at such a distance.  Well, other than the strange connection he himself had with Voldemort—was what he had with Nagini similar? But that had been an accident, hadn’t it? Some side effect of the rebounded Killing Curse that night long ago. He leaned back against the fence in quiet contemplation, the snake by his side. He would need to research; he may be allied with Voldemort now, but hell if he’d let the man have any more extra advantages than he already did with his decades of knowledge and experience to draw from. Harry didn’t foresee their partnership turning sour, he was optimistic on that front, but there was no need to be stupid about it. Self-preservation was where his Slytherin side shone, after all.

Harry sighed out a whoosh of air and frowned, contemplating the months to come. He knew he would need to meet with Voldemort as often as he could manage without suspicion if the two were to continue working well together, and honestly he even looked forward to the meetings. It would be difficult under the noses of so many people who took inordinate interest in his every move, but he would find a way. He wished he had an inkling of Snape's true allegiance, because having a teacher to cover for him would prove to be an unequaled advantage in the months to come. He would need to make finding out a priority.

 _//Tell Tom that I'll find a way to get to him on the night he wants. It will be complicated, but I think I can manage.//_ Nagini hissed happily before a loud crashing like breaking glass from the front of the house put both of them on alert, making Harry stiffen and narrow his eyes. _//You need to go.//_

Without waiting for a response, Harry crept away along the fence, his eyes darting toward where he knew the Order guard would be stationed. Did they not hear the ruckus? No one would be home for at least another two hours, so there should be no one to make any noise, especially not to that degree.

Reaching the edge of the house, Harry carefully cast out his senses, feeling a solitary figure only feet away from him around the corner. He narrowed his eyes and stepped out with his shoulders tensed only to stop and laugh.

He had forgotten all about Nymphadora Tonks. The woman was sprawled haphazardly over the bush in front of the living room window, a trashcan lid in her hand. It was this window that had been broken; Harry hoped no muggles had seen the accident and couldn’t help his laughter in response. She looked up with a weak grin, currently orange hair hanging over her eyes. "Wotcher, Harry."

His mirth died down and he helped her up. She moved immediately towards the window to set it back to rights with a flick of her wand. Harry glanced around to make sure no muggles were watching, a bit discomfited by her lack of secrecy. With a simple incantation the window was back to normal, and Harry gave the girl a small smile, remembering that he was not supposed to be in good spirits this 'soon' after Sirius's death. "Thanks for the laugh, Tonks, I needed it."

Orange hair dimmed and the young woman just nodded. "Sorry about that, really, but something _tripped_ me…"

Harry glances around, seeing the garden hose curled up. "That should have been picked up anyway, so don't worry about it."

She gave him another smile that was much more genuine than the first. "Well, I hope you’re all packed up. I need to get back to my post, but in about an hour Kingsley will be here and we’ll take you to Headquarters. Please don’t tell Kingsley we talked?”

Harry rolled his eyes. "Am I not supposed to know I have guards on me? How stupid do the Old Crowd think I am?"

Tonks frowned, her brow pinching. "It's not so much you as the muggles, you know. Not meant to be a slight to you." She shook her head and pasted on a smile. "Summer been good, Harry?" Almost as soon as the words left her mouth she was cringing, hair dimming down another shade.

Harry managed a small smile, ignoring the pain that still lanced through him when he thought of his Godfather. "No worries, Tonks. I've just been bored; I wish I could have gone to Headquarters sooner."

"Well, you haven’t missed anything. Only Moody and Diggle have been staying there more often than occasionally, though I think they’re going to try to bring the Weasleys over to help keep you company this last week. Are you excited for the new term?"

"I'm a bit cross that I couldn't go to Diagon Alley myself this year, but yeah, I'm excited."

The young woman shifted, locking eyes with him and sighing. "I've got to get out of sight now… but I'll talk to you later, all right Harry?"

"Wait, Tonks," he said quickly, stopping her before she Disillusioned herself. "How's Moony?"

Hair faded entirely to mousy brown now, he saw her shoulders slump. "I don't know. He left at the start of summer for Order business and only writes Dumbledore."

Harry's heart clenched, knowing he should write to the werewolf. It was only right after all that had happened. "All right, then. Talk to you later, Tonks."

Tonks slipped away, leaving Harry staring at the ground. He had thought it would be easier to break his ties to the Light, but actually being in the position was harder than he had thought. He had made many friends over the few years he had been a part of the Wizarding world, and he didn’t relish the reality of knowing he would very possibly face these people on a battlefield. Remus, more than anyone but Ron and Hermione, was confusing for him. He loved the man for who he had been to his parents, for the friendship he'd held with Sirius, for the role he may have played in Harry’s life. But he wasn't sure where he, himself, stood with the man. They hardly knew one another, after all, and he couldn't even call what they had a friendship. It was cold, perhaps, but he just couldn’t dredge up real feeling for a man who had stood by and ignored all that Remus had, who had run rather than checking in on Harry’s wellbeing over the years, who he’d barely spoken directly to. Nonetheless, he would at least attempt to keep that bond, no matter how fragile and barely-formed it was.

With a sigh, Harry retreated into the house and to his dusty, muggy room, intent on writing a letter to the last of the true Marauders before the Order arrived.

 

 

>    Dear Remus,
> 
> Hello Moony. I know it hasn't been very long since we talked last, but I hope you don't mind that I'm writing? I guess I can't really ask you about your summer, but I still hope you're as well as you can be.
> 
> I considered writing this letter like nothing was wrong, but I suppose it would be wrong to. We're both very aware of what's happened in the last few months, and sugar-coating them would make no difference. I miss Sirius. Yes, I am willing to use his name, as the Ministry can lick my balls as far as I'm concerned. What will they do, prosecute me for conspiring with a known criminal posthumously? I doubt it, though I'd love to see them try. Not a day has gone by that I have not thought of him. Of that bitch Bellatrix. Of the ways Dumbledore might have prevented it all. Of my own stupidity. Of Snape's childishness. Of Sirius's rashness. Often I have wondered the lengths I would go to to get him back… but then I stop and remind myself that it probably wouldn't be a good idea. I don't think Sirius would be happy with the things I have decided lately.
> 
> The decisions we make in life are what make us us, aren't they?  Choices are what make us good or evil, Light or Dark... at least, so says the Ministry. If that is the case, perhaps I am not a good person anymore. Have you ever felt that way? Have you ever looked in the mirror and wondered if the major choices you've made were mistakes even if they didn't feel that way at the time? If you will be paying for them for eternity? What those close to you would think of you if they knew your truths? Do you ever wish to just start anew, to act for yourself rather than for what is expected of you?
> 
> I also wonder how leaders of war handle the decisions they must make. How do they know the path they take is the right one? Do they even feel guilt when their choices result in the loss of their own? Or do they just automatically run the idea that it is 'all for the best' through their heads and assume it will be worth it in the end?
> 
> I often wonder all those things, both hypothetically and about those leading this current war.
> 
> But perhaps that I wonder means I am still not lost.
> 
> Well, I will stop my rambling there. Are you happy where you are? I must say that despite being miles away from where I expected to be… I think I am in the right place. Do you feel that way about yourself? Because if you ever doubt, where I am is open to you.
> 
>    Love and Regards,  
>     Harry James Potter

 

 

Grimmauld Place was as dank and depressing as ever. Even with Ron once more with him to bemoan the coming schoolyear and his yet-incomplete summer work, the twins popping in to update Harry on the status of their shop, and Molly alternately smothering and irritating him, Harry was not much more stimulated there than he had been at the Dursleys. But at least he was back in the magical world; at least he was testing the limits of acceptance of his persona. It was progress, which was something.

But the transition was almost too swift, so he often found himself holing himself away from the others, wandering the unused corridors of the manor. He counted himself lucky that Hermione was away still with her parents; she had always been the most observant person he knew, and getting a few days to get used to the role he must play without her eyes on him was a blessing.  Even so, he couldn't always swallow down his frustrations, so he'd spent many hours poking around dusty, long-unused parlors and flipping through old books tucked away in crevices of the Black household.  It had been during one of those expeditions that he'd felt the Dark pulse of magic lance through him, a darkness unlike even the Darkest artifacts not yet removed from the manor. He’d wandered in a daze through twisting, dark hallways and found himself almost itching to locate the source, feeling intoxicated by the steady pulse of magic that was calling to him.

It wouldn't occur to him until after that the space he came upon must have been Kreacher’s. He hadn’t seen the elf since he’d been back, and the nasty little bugger had honestly slipped his mind. In the moment he found the hoard of treasures, most dirty and cracked and dilapidated, he was able to do nothing but stare in wonder at the source of the warm pulse of pure Dark magic that had drawn him, the emeralds glistening in the low magical light.

The locket was almost suspiciously heavy and fairly vibrated in his hands, his magic singing alongside that of the object. It was magnificent, the craftsmanship secondary to the way the magic within it called to his very being.

He slipped the locket around his neck and tucked it safely against the skin of his chest, pressing his palm against the warmth that throbbed in time with his heart. He knew he should investigate it; hell, he should have cast a million spells before he’d even _touched_ it to see what enchantments and curses were likely layered over an object that felt Darker than anything he’d ever encountered. But all he could feel when it was near was safety, and something deep within him sang in joy to have it so close.

He could always investigate it better later, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you might have noticed, I am integrating Horcruxes where I did not before. I started his fic pre-DH and with information gained in it and fanon ideas since then, I've gotten inspriation for another facet of the HPTR I can run with from here. :)


	5. Rapprochement // the renewal of friendly relations

"Bollocks!"

Harry dodged through the crowd of muggles, struggling to remain at a reasonable, human speed and not mow anyone down with his trunk. King's Cross was crowded, and Harry needed to get to the barrier that led to Platform 9 ¾. He’d only managed to get away from the Order with a hasty excuse about needing the loo, darting away before anyone could argue, but it had taken longer than he had thought it would to find a person to serve as a meal in the early morning rush; there were just so many _people_ running around muggle London. More people meant less hiding places, which had ended up delaying Harry to the point where the train would soon be leaving.

He didn't bother slowing as the pillar for the barrier came into view, running headlong through the deceptive stone. His eyes brightened as he took in the sight of the train, smoke billowing from it as it prepared to depart. Harry had made it with only two minutes to spare. He shouted a farewell to Tonks, Shacklebolt, and Weasley elders as he blew past them, their worried expressions falling into varying degrees of relief and consternation. He didn’t stick around to be scolded, though; being so nearly late was helpful after all, it seemed.

He lifted his trunk rather easily onto the train, pulling it along behind him down the carriage with a barely suppressed grin. In his years in Sceaduwe Citadel, he had found it easiest to not think about the friends and places he had left behind. The first year had been more than difficult, closing his eyes and wondering how Ron or Hermione or any of this other friends were doing or what they were up to. But he had grown past that as the immediate loneliness had faded, locking his memories of his loved ones away so he could concentrate on his goals.

Now, though… now he was back. This was the Hogwart's Express, the red steam engine that had taken him straight into his own personal fairytale land all those years ago. He was finally going back to the one place he had counted as home in his young life. Nothing could ruin his mood now.

But of course, fate could try.

"Well, well, well, is that Potter I see? And all alone, how sad. Did your friends finally get sick of your stench, or did you just get bored of watching the Weasel and the Mudblood fornicate with their eyes?" The drawl was familiar even after all the years since he’d last heard it.

Harry had to stifle the urge to laugh. That was nearly witty; Draco's attempts at insults and snark had always been rather blasé in his memory. But mostly, Harry was just amused that the first person he’d run into, of all the students on the train, was this one, especially after the coincidence of the very first Death Eater he’d found. It was on the tip of his tongue to ask about how his pretty father was doing, but Harry decided that was a bit too forward.

He smirked rather than throwing the fit that was expected of him, causing Draco’s eyebrows to rise. "You are not worth my time right now, _Draco_ ," Harry purred with as much condescension as he could pack into a sentence. "Why don't you run off to your cronies or your little pet pug? With the way you seem incapable of removing your nose from up in the air, they can spend the train ride entertaining themselves by counting your nostril hairs."

Pale skin darkened in indignant anger and Draco was already fumbling for his wand. "How dare you?!"

"'How dare I' what? Insinuate you had nose hair? Come now, that was hardly even an insult," he pointed out, trying to remember how he would have reacted in years past. He didn't want to let the change be _too_ obvious, after all, not even around the young Malfoy. He schooled his face into a scowl. "Now get out of my way so I can find my friends."

Draco didn't budge. Silvery eyes raked over Harry from head to toe, confusion scrunching the boy's face. Harry didn't dare show how amused he was with the inspection, though he wasn’t worried about Draco noticing anything out of place. After all, the worst he could do would be to tell his father that Harry Potter wasn’t the same as he was before. He wasn’t worried about most students, really, since few knew him well enough to notice a change. Hell, even Seamus and Dean, boys he had lived with for five years, couldn't claim to actually know more about him than the general population, barring perhaps the sort of y-fronts he wore. But he had to be careful when Ron or Hermione were around. It wouldn't do, after all, to have someone run to Dumbledore so early in the game. But when it came to Draco, he could outright tell the boy that he was no longer Light and would have no worries.

However, at least for the moment, Harry didn't _want_ the younger Malfoy to know. It would take all the fun out of the game.

"I said _move_ , Malfoy." Harry narrowed his eyes.

"Why should I, Potty?" Draco retorted, quickly collecting himself into the pompous arse Harry remembered him to be. "Just what do you think you'll do if I don't?"

"Nothing _you_ could stop," he said dryly, though he eyed the wiry frame of the blond with irritated envy. At six feet tall, Malfoy actually had a few inches on even Harry's twenty-five-year-old body, though Harry was broader across the shoulders and more defined. Draco had some muscle tone from Quidditch, but he would never lower himself to do something as _plebeian_ as martial arts or weight training. Harry was confident that even without revealing himself and in his current form he could take the boy on one handed. However, he had to admit that currently he felt a bit dwarfed. "Where are your cronies anyway, Malfoy? No one to follow your every whim this year?"

The darkening of his eyes and the way pale brows pulled down into an angry vee told Harry that he had hit a nerve. His smirk widened.

"Ah, does it have anything to do with Daddy Dearest's stay in Azkaban? Are the snakes wary about following the son of a convict out in the open?"

"Shut up!" Draco hissed, red creeping up his neck. He whipped out his wand and jabbed it into Harry's throat; he tried to pretend to be afraid. "It's your fault! You destroyed my family!"

At this, Harry couldn’t hold back a snort. "Have you ever considered that it was your dad's fault for being a Death Eater and being at the Ministry that night?  All I did was point him out."

" _Shut up!_ " Draco screeched. "If it wasn't for your big mouth, it never would have happened! Saint Potter, poor little Gryffindor orphan boy. Just because your stupid, brainless parents got themselves killed doesn't mean you have to ruin everyone else's families!"

With one blink of green eyes, Harry was in motion, knocking away the rigid arm that held Draco's wand at his throat and twisting it around his childhood rival's back. A cold anger stole over Harry's features as he pushed Draco against the wall, his body holding him in place. "Listen to me, Malfoy, you naïve little child. Actions dictate consequences, and your father was stupid enough to get caught. You're lucky he is alive and at home and not soulless on some filth covered floor in Azkaban _rotting._ "

Harry couldn't remember the last time he had allowed himself to get actually angry. He thought it must have been just before he'd left this time period and he'd destroyed Dumbledore's office after Sirius' death, because nothing but family could bring this kind of rage out in him. His temper had cooled exponentially in his years away, but there would always be some part of him that held his Gryffindor temperament. He continued the hissed litany into Malfoy's ear, whose eyes were now wide and panicked. "I would suggest you stay the hell out of my way, and if you _ever_ insult my parents again, I will make you regret it."

He released the shaking blond and let him slide pathetically down to the floor of the corridor, sneering down while thanking his stars that no other students had come this far down the train. The fight had taken no more than five minutes, but it could have ended badly if Harry had let his temper reign. Without another word he spun on his heel and grabbed his trunk, hoisting it over Draco and continuing to the next train car to the compartment he and his friends usually used.

He didn't bother turning around, but if he had, he would have seen the calculating glint that entered Draco's eyes and the contemplative look that didn't fade as the blond stood and went in the opposite direction.

 

 

Veela, one of the more populous and humanoid of the magical races, were beautiful females notable for their exceptionally pale hair and perfect skin, and they were well known for their ability to entrance nearly any man into weakness. They had volatile tempers that, when roused, transformed them into intimidating, winged beasts. They had mates which they would protect at the cost of their own lives and had some dominion over fire. These were the most widely-known, accessible facts about Veela. Not much more was covered in the Hogwarts curriculum but that.

The books, however, did not mention the males of the Veela race.

Being a Veela male was nothing special, really. Males did not have mates or scary alter-egos to deal with, though their tempers were still something to cower away from. There was no thrall or elemental command, no matter how much one might wish for them. However, holding the blood of a Veela in one’s veins did have certain perks, ones that Draco Malfoy was glad for. Despite being perhaps a bit more delicate looking than masculine, he knew his looks were exemplary and his hair was always perfect. And even better, as with most of those who carried the blood of a magical creature, Draco's senses were much more in tune than a human's. He was only a bit Veela, with varying degrees of the blood being passed down through both his parents, but compared to a human he had a pretty good advantage. For Veela, sight was the sharpest of the senses, though scent came a close second.

There was something absolutely wrong with Harry Potter. Draco stayed lost in thought as he trekked back to his own compartment. There was just something _off_ about the Golden Boy, something he couldn’t put a finger on, and Draco was determined to find out what it was and find a way to use it against him. Being young and relatively sheltered as he was, Draco couldn’t properly explain the strange… feel of the Gryffindor, having nothing in his life experience to compare it to. However, Draco was an intelligent young man, and when he set his mind to something, he achieved it.

He _would_ figure out what was different with Potter. His father would be so pleased.

 

 

"Ronald Weasley, if you think you can just quit Potions and be done with it, you have another thing coming!"

"Aww, come on, Hermione, you sound like _Mum_ …"

"And I suppose that's terrible since you don't listen to your mother anyway! I can't believe that you actually purposefully did badly on your OWL—"

"But I didn't! It's not _my_ fault that I don't understand it! I mean, Snape doesn't even try to teach it right!"

"Excuses! I know you better than that, Ronald, and you had better believe that I will be petitioning Professor McGonagall to see that both you and Harry end up in NEWTS Potions! Honestly! Harry especially needs this knowledge; I can't see them just letting Professor Snape keep all but two or three students out of the class—"

"Oi! Harry!" Ron interrupted quickly, grinning at his friend who he had finally noticed at the door.

"Now don't change the subject Ron," Hermione continued. "Potions is a vital class! What happened to wishing to be an Auror? You can't even sit the entrance exams without having passed your Potions NEWT! It will be my personal—" Warm brown eyes locked on Harry's smiling form in the doorway to the compartment, and Hermione's face lit up. "Oh, Harry!" she cried, leaping over to engulf him in a hug. Harry was disgusted with himself when he felt tears prick the back of his eyes as he returned the embrace, taking in the familiar scent of one of his closest friends as he struggled to maintain his passively happy mask.

"Glad you made it, mate. Mum was starting to get frantic when we all had to get on the train and you hadn’t come back from the loo yet. Thought you might be stuck without even a flying car and a best mate to get you to school!” Ron stretched out, his latest growth spurt leaving him ganglier than ever, his legs reaching all the way across the compartment. “I’m not glad to be back to school, mind, but I sure am glad to get out of that house. Blimey, how the hell did Sirius—“ he cut himself off and his face screwed up in consternation, obviously catching himself just a moment too late. Hermione clenched her hands at her side as she stepped back from Harry, meeting his eyes hesitantly as she chewed at her lower lip.

Harry didn't begrudge them their wariness. From what he remembered of his fifth year, he had been a total prat with his rollercoaster emotions, even if he’d had reason for the angst. He’d been especially awful at the end after losing Sirius; his temper had been on a hair trigger. So it was probably a surprise to them both when Harry smiled shakily, suddenly thankful for the conflicting emotions that were still running through him as he prepared to act for those who had known him best at this age. "It's alright, guys. You… don't have to walk on eggshells around me, you know."

Hermione's sharp gaze was flicking over him intently, making Harry more nervous than he had been since the first time Valerian had decided to test him in a duel. Hermione was the one who would expose him in the end, he knew. No one else was as quick as her, and she would eventually put the pieces together. It was his ability to keep his secrets from _her_ that would determine if his mission would be successful. He knew it was a gamble to appear more or less ‘all right’ after the way their fifth year had gone, but honestly, he couldn't bear to try and be the same angst-ridden, tantrum-throwing boy he had been back then. Not only would he be hard-pressed to keep up the illusion, but he wanted to _relish_ the time he would have left with his friends, not squander it by pushing them away. He knew it would only cause it to hurt worse in the end when he was found out, but he couldn't help it.

He had gone over possible routes to take and excuses he could make many times during the achingly long summer days. Death often had a profound effect on those close to the deceased. He could just as easily blame his new attitude and 'studious' nature on coming to terms with the loss of Sirius, saying that he needed time to recover. This would allow him to be happy with Ron and Hermione, but hopefully cast suspicion off when he got into the moods he often fell into. It would also help excuse the unexplained absences and time alone, which Harry thought could only be a good thing. If Hermione was _too_ worried about his wellbeing, she would watch his every move, just as she would if he seemed too unaffected— but if he seemed to be coping, he would have a lot more time to himself.

Hermione seemed pleased with whatever she had found in her appraisal, because she simply smiled and pulled him into another tight hug. Harry mentally sighed in relief and grinned at the two before Hermione started on her rant once more, now tugging Harry into it. A long-suffering look from Ron was all it took for Harry to burst into genuine laughter.

It was good to be on his way home.

 

 

"Well, it wasn't so bad really, because Gran set up a greenhouse for my birthday this year, so I spent most of the summer tending my new Fanged Geraniums. Oh, Harry, you should _see_ my Mimbulus mimbletonia now! It's gotten _huge_!" Neville exclaimed as he, Ginny, and Harry walked from the carriages to the school doors. Harry chuckled and smiled as the normally shy boy waxed poetic about his biggest passion.

Hermione and Ron had Prefect duties with Professor McGonagall and had gone straight to her when the carriages stopped, leaving Harry with the other Gryffindors. He smiled as he listened to the mundane conversations; Ginny went on about which boys looked more attractive this year, Neville on his plants. Though he smiled outwardly, inside he was feeling more and more weight pressed down on his shoulders. He had always felt 'older' than his classmates, what with his childhood and responsibilities, but now the ten-year age difference made it all the more pronounced. His smile turned into grimace as they neared the Entry Hall, though he struggled to maintain his carefree appearance.

"So Harry," Ginny spoke up from his left. "You're going to take back over as Seeker this year, right? I mean, that harpy Umbridge's ban can’t really stay in effect, I don’t think…”

Harry sighed internally and thought this over. Did he want to continue Quidditch? No, he thought. It would be a distraction and hindrance and just take up more of the precious little time he would have to spare in the coming months. But he knew very well that he couldn't say that. "Dunno, really. I might, but I think you're doing fine in the position. You're a credit to the team." Harry gave her a small smile, ignoring the slight blush that graced the girl's cheeks. Paying any attention to it would only give Ginny the wrong idea.

They were entering the castle when all of Harry's senses screamed.

Another disadvantage to not having submitted to a full Change was his senses. Though he could 'feel' the presence of a person, he could not differentiate one person from another. He could feel the difference between a werewolf and a human, but he couldn't tell which werewolf or human they were without a visual confirmation. It was rather annoying, but in this case he thanked having extra senses at all as they alerted him to a powerful vampiric presence nearby.

One of Harry's hands casually thumped against his leg, reaffirming to himself that his dagger was still strapped to his thigh under his robes and that his wand was in its holster at his wrist. A thin sheen of sweat was already appearing on his forehead; a vampire in the school was going to be a _disaster_ , because a vampire in the school meant someone who would know _he_ was one, and that could blow his cover before the school year even begun. Harry was tense and on guard now, but thankfully his friends were too involved in their conversations to notice his unease.

He entered the Great Hall with trepidation, eyes scanning the room before falling on the High Table. Dumbledore was twinkling merrily in sky blue robes, obviously pleased with the start of a new school year. Severus Snape sat with his usual sour expression to one side of the man while to the other sat McGonagall's empty chair. The other teachers sat chatting happily, from Hagrid at the far right to Sinistra at the far left. Just as Harry nearly gave up, he found his answer. It had taken a second pass for his mind to remind him that the familiar face did _not_ belong amongst the others at Hogwarts.

Dante.

A shoulder colliding with his own woke Harry from his shock and made him aware that he had frozen just inside the Great Hall’s doors, so he quickly maneuvered himself to the Gryffindor table. His shock was quickly giving way to irritation and even anger as he tried not to be spectacularly obvious about watching the blond Elder through his fringe. Dante appeared to not even be paying attention, his eyes fixed on the enchanted ceiling as he looked like he would rather be anywhere but there. Then again, as well as Harry knew Dante, he figured the vampire _did_ want to be anywhere but there. He hated children, so why in the world was he there?

Why hadn't Dante ever told him that he had taught at Hogwarts? Wasn't that something that might have been at least mentioned sometime in the decade they’d known one another?!

As he watched, feline blue eyes finally left the ceiling and fell directly onto him. Harry sucked up his irritation and gave a nod, knowing the man had to at least know him a bit at this point, even only a few weeks into his time in Sceaduwe. And that was another thing: Dante had had training with Harry nearly every morning for a decade, barring a few exceptions due to circumstances. How was he here at the same time?  The pieces were falling together as Harry got the barest hint of a smile in return, the kind of micro-expression that had taken _years_  for him to learn to recognize on the vampire’s face, and Harry's irritation suddenly dwindled to nothing as shock took its place once more. There was recognition in that expression. Dante _knew_ him, really knew him. He could not have been the Dante that fifteen-year-old Harry was training with in Sceaduwe in this time period.

Dante must have read his incredulous expression, because one shoulder rose in a shrug. Harry nearly laughed aloud and quickly turned his attention away from the blond, not wanting anyone to notice their attention to one another _._ This was brilliant, an answer to his every anxiety! He had a true ally with him in the school after all. He had no idea why or how Dante was there, and even less of an idea why he hadn’t been _warned_ , but he was grateful despite the questions.

Dumbledore stood and gave his usual beginning of the year speech, grinning at the student body. The speech included the newly-usual warnings about Voldemort, about safety and working together to overcome obstacles. About camaraderie and relying on those around them. He preached to his students in a blinding display of hypocrisy, and Harry had to look down to hide his sneer.

"And finally, one more announcement before I give you leave to tuck in to your wonderful feast. Our Defense Against the Dark Arts position will this year be held by Mister Dante Pierce, who comes to us with a long resume of experience to help prepare you all in these trying times. Please welcome Professor Pierce."

Applause came then, many of the girls tittering and trying to catch blue eyes as the golden-blond stood and bowed. Harry rolled his eyes and applauded, his suspicions proved to be correct. He wouldn't be alone this year. Thank Merlin. Now, if he could find an excuse to talk to the vampire in private, he could find out _why_. Damn if he didn't think Valerian had something to do with it.

 

 

Dante let his eyes roam over the entering students, only centuries of training keeping his eye from twitching in annoyance. He hated children, he hated ignorance, and he hated teaching those he didn't see as having talent. Naturally, then, it seemed one of the stupidest moves of his life to have forced his way into a position teaching a bunch of untrained little monsters. And in some ways, it really was. He looked to the ceiling in annoyance, rather secretly enamored by the strength of magic it must have taken to replicate the outside sky.

But being immortal had many perks, one of them being patience. Dante had a lot of that. He had once spent nearly a decade in meditation, only waking to feed when he could no longer bear the hunger pangs, to try and find the cause of his dual magic. No other in history had managed to keep Wizarding magic while developing Vampire magic. It was simply unheard of. But he had managed it somehow without any special circumstances or his lineage being anything to brag about. The long years of exploring every nuance of his magical systems had given him no further answers, either.

Now here he was, having killed off a potential staff member in order to be sure he would be unopposed for a position. Horace Slughorn had been easy to find and even easier to kill, the fat man whimpering pitifully as he'd died. Dante had had no remorse; such things as regret and guilt were rid from a vampire early on. Honestly, he wasn't sure he had ever felt anything like sorrow towards his victims, even in the very beginning.

His first kill, after all, had been his brother. A traitor. The man who had killed Dante’s beloved wife just for meaningless information. The turncoat bastard had killed her for a mere handful of gold—

Now was not the time for such things, though, and Dante irritably pushed his hand through his hair, though he knew his expression would look only bored and passive to anyone observing. Centuries of practice had had him nearly unable to show emotion unless he consciously forced himself to, and even then he was so out of practice that it was likely to look false. But when his eyes fell on the young version of his Mylläkkä, he honestly had to stifle a snicker.

The boy was staring drop-jawed at him, all his careful training forgotten, blocking the flow of students entering the hall. It was amusing, really, but Dante was going to do a number on him later for forgetting himself so easily. A decade wasn't all that long, after all, and the boy had _so_ very much to learn.

Finally Harry managed to move, giving a slight nod as he moved to take his seat, which Dante returned with an amused look. The boy again looked flummoxed. Dante gave the boy a shrug and proceeded to ignore the young vampire completely, surely annoying him even more. Hopefully he wouldn't do anything stupid. Dante would talk to him after his last class the next day.

Class. Teaching. Dante groaned inwardly and went back to looking at the ceiling. How annoying.

 

 

"It seems like it's been a long time, don't you think?" Neville asked quietly, leaning against the opposite side of the sill from Harry as they both gazed out over the grounds.

"Yeah…" said Harry, his fingers twitching at his side at how very, very true that statement was. “Every time I come back here I feel like I've been gone years. This place— it’s the only home I've got, really."

Neville nodded in concurrence. The boys had only begun really socializing the year before – fifth year, that was – having realized the similarities they bore. Both were born near the same time, both losing their parents to Voldemort, both being raised by people who were not necessarily the ideal caretakers. Neville's grandmother wasn't a cruel woman, of course, but she was strict and had spent years and years lamenting Neville not being more like his parents. Both Harry and Neville were aware that Augusta really did love her grandson, but she just didn't have the best way of showing it; her love and respect for his parents often ended up overshadowing her good sense. It had done horrible things to the boy's self-esteem, but Harry thought that being out on his own and finding his niche had done wonders for him.

Harry had tried his best in fifth year to pull that confidence out of Neville, slowly but surely exposing a real person from beneath the overlooked shell. It seemed the Department of Mysteries debacle had furthered his progress, as the boy had an air about him this year that Harry didn't remember him having the last time he'd seen him. It was refreshing.

They had started this ritual in their second year; on their first night back, both would stand at the largest window of their dorm room and stare out over the Hogwarts grounds, relishing simply in being there. While they hadn't talked at first, by fourth year they had stayed up half the night just talking quietly to the background noise of Ron's snores and Seamus's habitual mumbling.

It was for Neville that Harry seriously considered leaving Bellatrix alive. She had stolen Neville's parents in a way somehow much worse than his own parents had been taken. Sirius had been something resembling an accident; though it had been obviously fortuitous to Bellatrix, it had been an accident nonetheless. Neville's parents, though, had been a malicious and purposeful act. It was not mercy that would stay his hand, but a need to make the bitch suffer. He would torture her happily for any defiance, but he would leave her death to Neville. When he got the courage, he would have his revenge if he wanted it, Harry would be sure of it.

"Have I shown you my new wand yet, Harry?" Neville asked after a few minutes more of silence, smiling gently in the moonlight.

It took Harry several moments of thought before deciding he most likely hadn't seen the wand. If Neville had gotten it in the remaining days before classes ended, he didn't know; small memories like that were fuzzy at best. "No, Nev, let's see it."

Confidence and pride bloomed on the sixteen-year-old's face as he pulled out the cherry wand, presenting it to Harry. This seemed to be a huge source of the air Neville now held. Perhaps it would even improve his magic; Harry was sure having a wand suited to him would really boost his ability to perform. His magic would never be strong, per se, but with confidence he could easily hold his own now.

"Cherry, good wand for you. Cherry wood stands for rebirth and new awakenings, you know."

Neville beamed. "I know, I looked it up. Gran was so proud. I— I just feel…"

"Good?"

"Yeah. Good. I couldn't have done it without you, Harry. Last year you showed me I could be my own person. I don't even think this wand could have helped me without all you did."

Harry smiled softly. "Don't thank me, Neville. I'm your friend, after all. I always knew you had it in you."

Neville beamed again and the two went back to staring out over the glassy surface of the lake, Hogsmeade's lights shining in the darkness. Harry could wait to feed until Neville went to bed; this was a tradition that bore standing. Even if he was losing everyone around him… at least he could have moments like this to hold him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only one or two more chapters of the 'set up' variety I think, then the action and changes begin. Thanks for reading the more boring aspects once more, and sorry for the pacing. :) I am bad at just diving into fic, I like setting things up too much and making sure I can at least convince _myself_ of the logic of the choices I want characters to make later.


	6. Elucidation // to provide clarification; to explain

The moon watched over Harry as he crept back across the silent lawns of Hogwarts after having snuck away to feed. Animal blood was nowhere near as satisfying as human, but it beat the disgusting Blood Substitution potions that some vampires swore by. Though Harry kept a cache of it 'just in case', he chose not to use it unless the situation was dire. In this case, he couldn’t risk the magical denizens of Hogsmeade fearing a nearby vampire and wasn’t in the mood to venture further afield to get a meal, but he wasn’t so lazy or desperate that he would take the potion over a short hunt through the Forbidden Forest.

The Hogwarts grounds seemed to glow under the light of the waxing moon, nearly full overhead. Long shadows were cast from the reflected light, lending a surreal quality to the landscape. Harry felt like he was dreaming as he stayed to the deepest shadows hoping to remain undetected. He begrudged Valerian his Shadow capabilities; it would be so much easier to simply allow himself to fade in wherever he pleased. But he was not a fool; techniques such as that took a lifetime or two to learn. As much as it would be nice for it to come ingrained in his vampirism, between the superpowers and the immortality, half of everyone would want to be a vampire. He had to deal with what he got.

The Entry Hall was eerily silent as he slipped up the first staircase, his senses cast out to be sure he remained unwatched. He needed to get a few hours of sleep that night, because he doubted he would get any at all the night following. He had his meeting with Tom to worry about. On silent feet he made his way up to Gryffindor Tower and past the sleeping Fat Lady, ready to turn in.

Ron was snoring loudly and Harry gave a wry grin at the familiarity of it. He, Neville, and Ron had met up with Dean and Seamus after dinner, the latter three boisterously sharing adventures from their summers. It was not strange for Harry to not join in on this, as most people were aware that he did not enjoy his summers with his relatives. But watching the three young men had given Harry pause.

He was no longer like them.

It had been niggling at his mind since the last week at Grimmauld Place, becoming more obvious through dinner, but the full weight of the revelation seemed to lay heavy on his heart in that moment. He could no longer relate to these people, any of them, not really. He had spent ten long years being trained by ancient vampires and other intelligent immortals, and as such he had adapted to the situation by becoming more like them. Now he was here with young men who had barely lived sixteen years and his heart ached in his chest. He didn't care about girls. He didn't care much about Quidditch anymore, either. He wasn't prone to angsting over the lot he had been handed in life, nor the supposed unfairness of their professors and course load. Though he had always felt a bit separate from his peers growing up, the ten year age difference held the truth in stark relief.

If he ever had before, he no longer fit in.

The revelation both saddened and lifted Harry's spirits all at once. On the one hand, he regretted losing the tight bond he had formed with Ron; despite the rough patches, the redhead had been a wonderful friend and had been right there beside him through so much. It dismayed him to realize the loss of his first friend, like he had suddenly lost his childhood. On the other hand, though, this would certainly make his predicted end result easier for him. He had no illusions that any of the people he knew from his years in Hogwarts would stand by him when the truth came out. If it wasn't his vampirism, it would be his alliance with the Dark. If it wasn't that, it would be the blood on his hands. Even if one of them was able to get past those things, one encounter with his more recently cultivated cruel, calculating side and they would be sent running. He supposed the emotional distance that was setting in now was preferable to losing it all in one swift kick to the teeth.

Sinking into his bedding, he let the still-familiar sounds of dormitory life rise and ebb around him as he drifted into a dreamless sleep.

Severus Snape drummed his fingers against his thigh, a tick displaying his irritation that he’d stifled in his teenage years that often still manifested before he had drunk his morning tea even decades later. The listless tattoo of his fingers was silent in the din of the Great Hall, but Severus used the faint pressure to keep his mind focused on his thoughts and not on bemoaning his life as it currently stood.

His godson had come to his rooms immediately after the Welcoming Feast, rambling on about Potter being somehow ‘different’ than he had been prior to summer. Severus sneered both internally and visibly, cowing several students without even trying. The brat hadn't even been in the school twenty-four hours and already he was causing new problems. He wondered about what Draco described, though. That the Malfoy heir had admitted to his weakness when confronted by Potter had astounded Severus and forced him to take the boy seriously, no matter how farfetched the described confrontation seemed. His first assumption was that the death of his mutt of a godfather had taken more of a toll on the supposed 'Hero' of the Wizarding world than predicted. He had hated Black with the deepest fibers of his being, but he could imagine what such a loss would do to the cocky Potter boy.

Black eyes flickered across the Great Hall, watching the students filling the house tables and chatting away with their friends. They were all so naïve, flitting about like there _wasn't_ a war going on outside the castle walls, worrying about their superficial lives and their petty problems. Severus hated children for this reason more than any other. Even when he had been in school he had had to deal with Death Eater meetings, James Potter and his cronies, his mother's declining health, and just _surviving_ beyond another year. He had not had time for the trivialities of youth, and he despised all these bumbling children who believed there was nothing more to life than who had gotten a haircut over the summer and who was going to win the House Cup that year.

Black eyes locked onto eerily bright green and motion in the hall froze for one moment, Severus's breath inexplicably locking in his throat. Something in those eyes was too… _too hard_ for a child, too dark to be normal. While usually he had to control his reaction to those eyes due to the one they had been inherited from, now he found himself wanting to flinch away from the darkness there. Potter blinked and the moment was ruined, Severus quickly pulling his eyes away.

Severus chose to ignore the chill of foreboding that lanced down his spine and went back to sipping his tea.

Harry shook off the strange feeling that had filled him as the staring contest between he and Snape came to a close, choosing to instead focus on the biscuit he had commandeered for his breakfast. He had no need for much regular food, but he liked it well enough and chose to eat it to keep up appearances. Besides, it helped him need less blood to get his nutrients elsewhere: a perk of his hybrid status.

The morning mail had been delivered and Harry lost himself in the drone around him, his fellow students chattering excitedly, or in several cases woefully, about the classes they would be taking that year. Harry had half an ear on everything around him and his eyes slanted in the direction of a bored-looking Dante who sipped a beverage without even bothering to look his way. He didn't have DADA until the next afternoon, so doubted he would get to talk to the vampire before then unless he was sought out.

Hermione's muted gasp to his right called his attention, and he took his eyes off of Dante and raised an eyebrow at her. "What's wrong, Hermione?"

The muggleborn witch shoved the Daily Prophet under his nose, pointing to a minor article on the second page. "Look here, Harry! They had to Obliviate over a hundred muggles this summer! This is terrible: at this rate, the Wizarding world will be exposed!"

It was only that she sounded genuinely on the verge of panic that made Harry not burst out laughing, instead he smiled gently at her. "Don't worry so much. We won't be exposed."

"How can be so calm?!" she said, shaking the paper which she had yet to remove from Harry's face. "You were raised Muggle too, you know how they are! If they find out about us—"

"Hermione," he broke in with a wry smile. "Calm down. It's _because_ I know muggles that I'm not paranoid. You know as well as I do of how ignorant they can be. You could parade a dragon in front of a crowd and we would remain undetected. Half of the people would just brush it off as a special effect. Some would join little conspiracy groups believing the government was doing genetic experiments. And the remaining of them would just go home thinking they had been dreaming. It will take a lot more than a few people ranting about our existence for the oblivious fools to see anything they don't want to see."

Hermione's brown eyes widened before narrowing, lips pursed in a trademark 'Hermione is Thinking' expression. Harry picked at his biscuit as he watched her toss the idea around in her head, obviously weighing its truths. Ron remained focused on his food, not caring in the least about their discussion. “What if there is a video taken and posted somewhere? You’ve used the internet at least once or twice, haven’t you?” She paused and waited for him to nod; he had at the library a few times over the summer in Little Whinging. “Wasn’t sure those awful relatives of yours would have let you do much with it, so I wanted to be sure. But yes, some video could be shared there and sent through a Usenet group or in a chatroom somewhere.”

“Again, people would assume it was doctored. Unless someone was stupid enough to do magic with a visible effect that was incontrovertibly not a setup in front of thousands live, the muggles would make excuses to themselves. It isn’t like I don’t worry about the idea; we’d have one hell of a fight on our hands if the muggles ever did find out.  But I’m pretty sure it is unlikely in the near future.”

Finally, bushy hair swung with the force of Hermione's nod and she smiled. "You know, you're right. I was being a bit paranoid, wasn't I?"

Harry resisted the urge to agree. "No matter, really. I can see why people would be concerned. But I think of my uncle: he _knows_ magic exists and he still doesn't think it is anything to worry about. Working to tighten the Statute of Secrecy and trying to actually get wizards informed about the advances muggles have made would help people bumbling around and exposing us. I know they can be dangerous and small-minded, I do. But I don’t think they’re going to drop a bomb on London in hopes of killing us all, and anything short of that we can fight back against."

"That's surprisingly intelligent, Harry." Hermione beamed, obviously believing that to be a compliment.

Harry rolled his eyes at her and smiled. She was massively intelligent, but even though they had improved over the years, her people skills still needed work.

"Boys! Herbology starts in ten minutes! Up, up!"

Both of their groans answered her.

Harry fought the urge to practice a few choice curses on the Ashwinder that Hagrid had assigned to their group. They would only be alive another week and kind-hearted Hagrid was insistent on making their short lives better before they laid their dangerous eggs, and it was his sixth year students' job to help. Harry sighed as he listened to the silvery-grey snake rant in broken insults and confusing tirades; snakes that did not spend time around humans did not speak in coherent sentences. He knew better than to even attempt speaking with it in class, so instead suffered being the only person who could understand their cursing.

Hermione was currently in Arithmancy, leaving Ron, Harry, and Seamus as the only Gryffindors in the post-OWL Care of Magical Creatures class. Thankfully it was the last class of the day. Harry had failed to take into account how utterly boring going to classes would be when he already knew all the material, and he just wanted the annoying day to be done with. He was rather looking forward to his meeting with Tom that night, as he currently felt like he hadn't had an intelligent conversation in years. He shoved away a tiny voice that noted that it was odd to look forward to seeing _Voldemort_ of all people, knowing things were different now. Despite what the man had done and despite the lingering feelings of dislike that sometimes gave Harry pause, Voldemort was an intelligent and interesting person, and Harry couldn't help gravitating toward that.

Harry, Ron, and Seamus worked in silence, save for Ron’s annoyed grumbling and the angry hisses from the snake. As Harry attempted to adjust the snake's bedding, it struck out and managed to sink its fangs into Harry's hand at the base of his thumb; Harry cursed under his breath and wasn't sure if it came out in English or Parseltongue, but he was sure he didn't give a damn at the moment. Though not venomous, being bitten by _anything_ hurt, and even the scent of his own blood was enough to make him antsy.

"You alright, mate?" Ron asked, peering over Harry's shoulder. "It didn't get you, did it?"

Harry shook his head, his hand being in his mouth and keeping him from answering as he closed the wound with his saliva. After a few moments he removed his hand. "No, I just managed to hit my thumb against the bar when I jerked back."

Seamus, who had been sitting on the ground and thoroughly ignoring their assignment, peeked up through sandy blond bangs. "Remind me again why I'm still taking this class?"

"Because otherwise you'd have to take Divination," Ron said.

Harry chuckled. "I think it's the only reason anyone takes this class."

Seamus heaved a heavy sigh and plopped backwards into the grass. "Wojus."

Ron joined him. "Yep."

Harry just shook his head and continued the assignment for the last few minutes of class, scowling at the hissing snake.

"What's it saying?" Ron asked suddenly, and Harry blinked back his surprise. Normally Ron seemed to try and forget that he was a Parselmouth.

"Uhh… you really don't want to know," Harry said sheepishly as the snake let out a few expletives that would have made Mad-Eye Moody blush.

"Maybe if you told it to shut up and we could ignore it for the rest of class," Seamus said hopefully, eyeing the snake with disdain.

Again, Harry was surprised by the boys' casual references to his 'Dark' ability, but he only laughed and brushed it off. "But then it would be insulting _me_ instead of the color of Ron's hair, and that wouldn't be all that fun."

Ron pinked in indignation. "Hey!"

"What? It's not like you can understand what it's saying."

He got a shrug and pout in reply. "Stupid snake. Some mate you are, not even sticking up for me."

"Just be glad Hagrid hasn’t tried to get one of Aragog's children yet for a teaching aid."

A visible shudder went through Ron as the end of class was announced, and the three boys began their trek back to the castle in the slightly misty afternoon sunlight. They had nearly made it to the doors when a figure stepped out of the shadows and seemed to appear before them, causing Ron and Seamus to jump back in surprise and Harry to stifle a grin at Dante's less than subtle appearance.

Dante remained expressionless as he surveyed the trio, feline eyes darting from one boy to the next before landing with an amused glint on Harry. "Mr. Potter, I have been sent by the Headmaster to retrieve you. Will you follow me?"

Harry nodded, waving off his dormmates and following the vampire into the castle, waiting until they would both be sure of their privacy before yanking Dante into an empty classroom. Harry quickly put up silencing and locking charms to be sure their conversation remained private, a bemused expression overtaking his features. "What are you doing here, Dante?"

"Hn," Dante said with a slight quirk of his lips. "That's Professor Pierce to you."

Harry growled in response.

"Fine," he drawled, flicking his fingers at Harry. "Valerian sent me along after you. You should have known he wouldn't send his favorite pet out without someone to watch over him."

"I resent being called his pet. Why wasn't I informed of this? And just how did he send you as well? Opening the portal for only me should have exhausted him for weeks!"

It was only because Harry knew the blond so well was he able to discern the long-suffering look he was given. "You're thinking linearly again, Mylläkkä," he chided. "In fact, it exhausted him for over a month, and he still waited another before he sent me. He merely sent me back farther. Time is not an obstacle to him, you know this."

Harry shrugged and sat down on the top of a desk, surveying the room for a few silent minutes. It looked to be an old Arithmancy classroom by the charts on the wall. He pulled his knees up to his chest and rested his chin upon them, drained of irritation now but still a bit upset. "Did neither of you think this would be something important to tell me?"

Dante sighed and adjusted his position, shifting his weight to one foot and cocking his head at Harry. "It wasn't until after you left that Valerian became so worried for you that he asked me to go. You know how he can get. He never wanted you to leave in the first place, but he had promised you when he brought you to Sceaduwe that you could leave in ten years to return to the Mortal realm. Valerian would never go back on his word, but you know it hurt him to let you go."

Harry's eyes cut away. "I apologize for jumping to conclusions. But I would have appreciated a warning."

A smirk settled over Dante's face. " _That_ was my idea, Mylläkkä. I have to keep you on your toes, after all."

Harry laughed weakly and shoved the blond, hopping up from his seat on the desk. "Whatever, Dante. How did you manage to get a job here, anyway? Surely Dumbledore knows you're a vampire."

A nod. "He knows, as will all students by the Yule holiday. It will not be hidden as it was with Mr. Lupin, and I am only going to be here for one year. He had planned, actually, to replace the Potions Master with the previous one and allow that Snape fellow to teach Defense… but the former Master had an accident. I was his only choice."

Harry laughed again and tipped his head. "Touché. I must say that this is convenient, though. I was worried about how I was going to get away with my meetings with Voldemort and not raise too much suspicion."

"Is not Snape one of Voldemort's Death Eater?"

"Yes, but he is also a dual spy. I can't be sure which side he is actually on."

Dante's eyes narrowed. "I hate spies."

"Oh, shut up. This isn't the same as your brother, Dante. I honestly respect Snape for being able to survive in the life he's been forced into. He's had a lot of things shoved onto his shoulders."

"Like you?"

Green eyes locked with blue. "Yeah, a lot like me."

"When is your first meeting?"

Harry pulled out his wand and cast a Tempus, frowning. "In two hours. I need to go to dinner to keep up appearances."

"We will talk tomorrow then, Mylläkkä."

"You've got to stop calling me that, Dante. You'll have to lower yourself to calling me Potter, because the name Mylläkkä will soon be associated with Voldemort. If someone heard you call me it…"

The vampire just lifted one shoulder in a small shrug. "I'll just avoid referring to you at all."

As Dante walked away, Harry smiled for both the knowledge that he had a friend so close and for his impending meeting with the Dark side. Harry couldn't help the snicker that escaped him at the thought; he felt rather like a Star Wars reject. With a grin that he didn't dare showing others because of his fangs, Harry stretched his arms above his head as he walked down the empty corridor.

He didn't feel the eyes watching his every move.


	7. Sadism // the tendency to derive pleasure from inflicting pain, suffering, or humiliation on others.

"I'm off to bed, guys," he said with a faked yawn.

From the common room couch, where she had been coyly flirting with Dean, Ginny pouted. "It's early, Harry! We all just barely got settled in!"

Harry gave the youngest Weasley an apologetic smile. "I didn't get much rest last night, having to adjust to Ron's deafening snores again."

The rest of the group, which included a few of Ginny's year mates as well as Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil, laughed at Ron's expense, and Harry received a face full of pillow for his effort. He grinned at Ron and tossed the pillow back at the redhead. They had all congregated in the Gryffindor common room to relax, deciding to spend their first real night back together. Thankfully, the homework load was less on the first day, though people who had had Potions already had a hefty essay to complete.

"Prat, I'm not _that_ bad," Ron complained. "Neville snores louder!"

"Yeah, but Neville learned the put up a silencing charm over his bed years ago," Dean joined in.

Harry needed to get away if he was going to get out the window unseen and away from the castle, as the other boys would soon be going to bed. He broke into the familiar camaraderie. "G'night, all! I'll see you in the morning."

Hermione waved distractedly from within her Transfiguration textbook, and everyone else gave varying goodbyes. Harry gave another yawn for effect before trudging up the stairs, tapping his robe pocket to be sure the Regression and Reversion potions were in place. It would be too dangerous for Harry Potter to risk being seen anywhere near Riddle Manor, not to mention that Harry would be damned if he would try to conduct a meeting while looking like a sixteen-year-old.

Arriving in his dorm, he quickly yanked the curtains around his bed shut and cast a locking spell over them. He didn't want anyone to find him absent, so it was better if they were suspicious of him locking his drapes. After changing his school robes for a heavy cloak, Harry pulled his old Firebolt and Invisibility Cloak out of his trunk and unlatched the window, shivering the smallest bit as the chilly night air wafted in. With a last glance around the room he hopped onto his broom and soared into the night, heading towards the edge of the anti-apparition wards.

Behind him, sleepy hazel eyes blinked rapidly at the window, wondering just where Harry was going that late at night.

Harry wiped his watering eyes with the back of his hands, willing away the stinging prickles that the Reversion potion had invoked. Reversion, while not nearly as painful as the Regression was, still hurt like a bitch. He stood slowly and shuddered, trying to clear his head of the echoes of the roaring pain; he was suddenly very glad that he didn't do this all that often. Adding to the pain was the extreme tightness of his clothing, now. He'd forgotten to take into account the size difference. He had gone from bigger to smaller last time, so this had not been an issue. Now Harry struggled to move and cursed the fact that he had worn one of the few pairs of trousers that actually _fit_ his sixteen-year-old body that day.

Maybe he should brush up on his Transfiguration. He was kind of shite at it else he’d just expand them a bit.

The shadows of the forest outside Hogsmeade gave him total privacy anyway, so Harry threw off his heavy cloak and stripped out of his clothing, glad to find that he hadn't ruined his trousers in the transformation. After emptying the pockets, he sighed and shrunk them along with his invisibility cloak, glasses, and his phoenix feather wand. Stuffing them into the cloak pockets, he was glad to at least not need to remove his underwear as he pulled the cloak over his shoulders and used a spell to hold the front shut.

Not wasting any time, Harry Apparated into the foyer of Riddle Manor, adjusting the cloak's hood over his head as he observed the few people that milled around the manor at night. Many glanced his way, but few paid him any mind. Harry started on his way to where he knew Voldemort was, ignoring any looks sent his way. He knew he was expected.

Sneering at Pettigrew, who was crouched down in a doze beside the door, he strolled into the office and smirked at Voldemort as he lowered his automatically brandished wand. Harry pushed back his hood as he flopped gracelessly into the seat across from the man's desk. "Do you _ever_ leave this office?"

Voldemort scowled and waved his wand, setting a silencing barrier. "Hello to you too, Potter. Nice to see you. Yes, I had a fine day: tortured Wormtail into a blubbering mess and got some interesting information regarding the Ministry. How about you?"

Harry couldn't help but snicker. "Oh Tom, are you in a mood? I'm sorry I am not following decorum, but you must admit that you are in the exact position I left you in weeks ago."

Voldemort growled, running a spindly hand over his face. "Being a Dark Lord isn't all Death Eater meetings and torture sessions, you know. I have mission reports to read, expenditure charts, missives from allies… you should be helping me with this, Potter, since you fancy yourself to be a partner in this."

Harry shrugged a shoulder and grabbed a roughly torn parchment scrap off the top of the stack to Voldemort's right. It was a report from a Death Eater in Cardiff that was trying to woo the last of the living Coraniaid into joining their cause, asking about additional protections the beings had demanded. "Well, no one but a chunk of your Death Eaters know who I am at the moment, so I can't do much to help with anything outside. And since we have not yet had the time to plan long-term, I am unsure of your resources and any of your plots currently in motion. You’d not want me stepping on your toes, now would you?"

Voldemort hummed under his breath, laying down his quill. "We're going to have to make your presence known sooner rather than later."

"Ah, but how? I refuse to go on a killing spree just to get my name spread. If there is a worthwhile raid planned in the near future, I could accompany you then, of course. That would surely get the message out. But as we’ve already discussed, we need to begin shifting the public’s perception, and meaningless terror or muggle hunting won’t do that."

"You and your piteous morality. We'll figure it out." Voldemort propped his chin on laced fingers, suddenly looking drained. Even the insult was lackluster at best.

"Have you been sleeping? Pardon, but you look more like shite than usual."

A scowl. "Thanks, Potter."

The joking smile faded, and Harry leaned forward in his seat. "Honestly Tom, what's wrong with you?"

"Showing concern for the Dark Lord? Honestly, _Gryffindors_."

"Oh, shut up," Harry said seriously, bright eyes narrowing. "I don't know what's crawled up your arse, but knock it off. We don't know each other especially well yet, but I'm not blind. When something is wrong with you it affects me as well, as we will not be getting anything done with you being a twonk."

Voldemort's lipless mouth curved into a wry smirk. "I'm tired, Potter. Lucius was able to regain his job at the Ministry, but with considerably less influence. I've been planning for over a week straight on the best way to handle this situation, but I keep finding loopholes in my plans that I wish to close. Fudge needs to be gotten rid of due to his incompetence and Dumbledore’s easy influence over him, but I don't want someone like Scrimgeour or Robards taking his place; anti-Dark fanaticism is high enough as it is without a less inept fool in the Minister’s seat. I want to seed more of my men into the system in new departments, but the chance of someone catching on rises with every new addition. I want to start recruiting those who are disillusioned within the Auror ranks to add more properly skilled fighters to my ranks after seeing how utterly disastrous the Department of Mysteries debacle went, but one wrong person and _more_ problems will arise."

Harry propped his elbows on the desk and rested his chin on his hands with far-off eyes as he thought out loud. "Fudge is easily manipulated, leave him. You should add people, despite the risks, the more there are the better. And you can always stage another raid on Azkaban if a few of your men get caught. Don't bother with the Aurors, there are too few who would even consider dissent for it to be viable. You should set Lucius rebuilding his contacts, making new ones. Despite his loss of power, he is still a prominent wizard and now that his allegiances are suspected, those people who _do_ want to know more would want to go to him, as a powerful and well-known pureblood."

Voldemort inclined his head. "They were rhetorical questions, Potter. I know very well the best course of action. However, I am not a wizard prone to rushing headlong into things no matter what my actions towards you may make you believe. I believe in backup plans upon backup plans.  But it seems the years have been good to your practical intelligence as well. Salazar knows you had little of it when you were a teenager."

"I was a child forced into a war with no training. Don't tell me you expected me to be some kind of prodigy as well?"

"No, but you held your own for a brat, I admit. Your luck was truly the most impossible, damnable thing, even taking into account my—lackluster stability at the times of our confrontations."

And wasn’t that a curious comment? Harry couldn't help smirking teasingly. "Was ickle Voldie's self-esteem bruised? Really, if I hadn’t met your younger counterpart from your diary and seen your cunning firsthand, I’d have expected you to be a Gryffindor with how little-thought-out your plans often were. Relying only on your own brute force and fearlessly diving in weren’t the most Slytherin of moves."

He could tell Voldemort was vastly unamused despite having noted the fault himself. His eyes narrowed suddenly, though, nostrils flaring as he tipped himself forward over the desk. “What was that about my diary?”

“Uhh… my second year?” Harry said with a blink. “Giant bloody basilisk set on the students after your diary possessed my best mate’s little sister? Sudden déjà vu of your own school years and dealings with mysterious petrifications, once again with your sneaky arse behind them?”

The exhale that left Voldemort was as much a hiss as it was anything else, and Harry felt a chill run down his spine at the absolute rage that ignited in crimson eyes. “And what, praytell, was the fate of said diary?”

“Are you pissed at me for stabbing it? I mean, your younger self was literally trying to kill me at the time and a snake as big as an elephant had just bitten through my arm. Stabbing it with the fang seemed like the proper action at the time.”

Those rageful eyes closed, but the feel of magic in the air was suddenly so oppressive that Harry let out a strangled whimper that he couldn’t contain. “Tom?” he gasped out.

“Wormtail!” Voldemort’s chest was visibly heaving as he barked out the animagus’s nickname in a high, maddened tone, the silencing barrier crashing down with the force of his fury.

The Dark magic in the air wasn’t lessening, but Harry was getting a bit more used to it. He could at least breathe properly once more. He fought down the urge to sink to the floor in a puddle as he spoke up. “H-He was sleeping when I arrived.”

Voldemort didn’t even twitch a hand but the doors to his study blew open to allow Wormtail through as he was dragged across the floor by magic alone. The Dark Lord stood and eyed the cowering lump of a wizard with a sharp sneer, one hand flicking jerkily at him. “ _Crucio_.”

Peter spasmed and twisted in unlikely ways as the wandless curse coursed through him, obviously not even having the breath to scream as his face went rapidly from pale to a royal blue. Harry felt something hot lance up his spine at the careless, wandless Unforgivable. Admiration? A swiping motion cut the curse off as Voldemort approached the coward, towering over him. “What have I told you, you disgusting little cretin, about shirking your duties within what few tasks an ignoramus like yourself can be entrusted with? You are useless to me if you cannot even stand guard. Do you want to be useless to me?” Harry shivered; the falsely-calm, nearly-sweet voice Voldemort did not work with his snake-like face.

“M-Master, I’m sorry, I was—“

“ _Crucio.”_

He knew it was wrong to enjoy watching the rat scream, but that didn’t stop him from doing it anyway. He was sitting up more fully now, leaning over the back to the chair to watch, his own wand rolling between his fingers as Voldemort’s magic made all the hairs on his body stand on end. It was entrancing and addictive, nearly making him feel drunk. He tried not to sway. “Nice as the Cruciatus feels to cast, there are many spells with far more fun, visible results you could try out on him.  Did you see the Constriction curse on page ninety-seven of that book I lent you? Point it at his balls and laugh as the pressure builds to crush them, or his throat and see how long it takes him to turn blue.”

Voldemort gave a snort that seemed mostly unwilling, crimson eyes darting in his direction as the magic in the air abated slightly. “Where has that lamentable morality of yours gone to?”

“I’m not some innocent flower, Tom,” Harry said dryly, inhaling slow and deep to try and clear his head now that the effects were easing. “Not being a fan of mass slaughter doesn’t mean I am a pacifist.”

He got a thoughtful hum of sound in return before Voldemort turned back to the sobbing lump that was Pettigrew. “Your arm, Wormtail.”

“Care to update me on what you’re up to now?”

Voldemort’s smile was terrifying; Harry’d heard grins called shark-like before and this was one if any ever had been: gleaming, sharp teeth included. “Well, I had planned to call Lucius in to discuss our decisions on the Ministry as it was. But now I need to ask about a very important artifact I had left in his possession some years ago.” Though the grin stayed, Harry could feel Voldemort’s magic lash out again at the mention before it was reigned back in. Wormtail howled as the wand was stabbed into his forearm to activate the mark.

“And here I thought the questions had been rhetorical,” said Harry with a chuckle, though his curiosity was piqued. Obviously Voldemort hadn’t been properly informed about events he had missed. What was it about the diary that had him so incensed? Harry didn’t think he’d ever, ever felt Voldemort so angry, and as someone with a mental tunnel to him that used to cause him to be send into fits when the man was angry, that said a lot.

“They were, but you affirmed my feelings on the matters. I cannot plan for every single possibility, I suppose. Now, as we await Lucius, have there been any developments I should be aware of?”

"I’ve been in Muggle Hell most of the time since I saw you last, then in a dusty, sad old excuse for a pureblood manor infected with Order members who would never dream of sharing useful information with me. My life has been very boring these last weeks.  The only real development is that Dante, my martial arts and dueling instructor from Sceaduwe Citadel, ended up being asked by Valerian to come back in time as well, to watch over me or some such nonsense. But it is actually sort of a godsend since he is the new Defense professor, so even without confirming Snape's loyalties I have someone to cover for me when I leave to meet with you."

Voldemort flicked his hand to send Wormtail’s limp form careening back into the hallway before he moved to take his seat, eyes intense and focused. "You're on such a casual basis with the Marquis Valerian?"

He sighed and scrunched his nose. "Please don't act like he is the second coming of Merlin if he shows up to check up on me’ Val's ego is big enough as it is without you feeding it."

"I don’t think you understand, Potter. It would be— _extremely_ advantageous if we could secure an alliance with him. Do you realize the power and numbers he commands?"

"Did I not mention that he named me his heir?” By the widening of crimson eyes, he supposed not. “It doesn’t really mean much right now; I’ve not even lived a human lifetime yet. But he wants me to take over for him in the far, far off future. Once this war is no longer an issue and I’ve caught back up with the proper time, we’ll continue my slow training in his responsibilities.” Harry didn’t bother mentioning that over three-fourths of his ‘training’ thus far had been years of Valerian berating him for every plebian mannerism and colloquialism Harry dared show. “So yes, of course I know he’s powerful. I am sure Val wouldn't be opposed to giving support, either, even if we aren’t terribly close at this point linearly. Be forewarned, though, that he isn’t able to do much himself. There are fate-bound edicts on him that limit his abilities to act.”

Voldemort didn’t look confused at all, so Harry assumed he was aware of the limits of the position of Lord of the Shadowed Realm. He moved to stand, wondering when Malfoy would arrive to provide amusement, when he recalled his earlier discomfort. Harry gave an altogether unabashed smile. "Hey Tom… this might sound a bit strange, but do you happen to have a pair of trousers I can borrow? You're taller than me, but I can make do."

Harry nearly laughed at the comical look that overtook Voldemort's face, an incredulous lift of his brow that left one of his eyes twitching. "Potter, exactly _why_ do you need my trousers?"

He nearly made a joke about wanting to get into Voldemort’s pants, but he wasn’t sure they were at that stage of knowing one another yet. Also: eww. Instead, he fessed up. "I forgot that I was going to grow five inches and a fair amount of muscle mass when I used the Reversion potion." Harry illustrated this by yanking on the top of his cloak, exposing his bare collarbone and shoulder. "While my state of undress is hidden, it's rather uncomfortable sitting here in nothing but my y-fronts and a cloak. I was raised muggle; I prefer to have a shirt and trousers on under my robes, even."

Voldemort snorted and swished his wand, a folded black pile sailing into the room only moments later to drop before him. "I hope these are… acceptable," Voldemort said with a leer that made Harry raise an eyebrow.

It made sense when he actually looked at the bundle, and a chuckle escaped his lips before he could help himself. "Why do you even own these? Did you transfigure them on their way here just to see me in leather, Tom? I'm flattered."

The leer intensified, and Harry swore that crimson eyes brightened. "You grew up well, can you blame me?"

Harry laughed and canceled the spell holding his cloak shut, letting it slide off his shoulders to pool at his feet. He didn't have to look towards the Dark Lord to know he was watching shamelessly. "You were a looker in your school years. It's a pity, really, that you've let yourself get all… icky. No offense meant, of course, but you have to know what I'm talking about. I tend to prefer my men with noses," Harry said offhandedly as he bent to push his feet into the dragonhide trousers.

"Things are not always as they seem," Voldemort murmured, and the vague tone made Harry glance back toward him over his shoulder as he pulled the fabric up over his legs, a strange sensation traveling down his spine at the heated look he was receiving. He ignored the shiver and raised an eyebrow for clarification as he straightened and faced him, but Voldemort was too distracted to answer, choosing to rake his eyes down Harry's torso. Harry couldn't fight the heating of his face, pink spreading over the bridge of his nose and across his cheekbones. Voldemort might not be much to look at, but that amount of hunger in a person’s gaze should be illegal.  As should the way it made Harry’s insides warm and shift.

He couldn’t help but be pleased when Lucius Malfoy chose that moment to arrive, halting with widened eyes when he noted Harry’s half-naked form. Harry suppressed any strange reactions and smirked instead, pushing aside everything else to prowl forwards and circle Lucius. “Now this one, on the other hand—“ he murmured, hearing a responding huff of amusement from Voldemort behind him. He grinned up at Lucius. “Hullo there, Pretty. Like what you see?” He stopped inside the blond’s bubble and leaned closer yet, watching with fascination as Lucius forced all emotion from his face and his eyes shuttered as Occulemency shields slammed down.

He stepped around Harry and dropped to his knees, face turned down. “You called for me, my lord?” It seemed the blond wished to ignore him entirely. Harry fought the urge to pout and instead raised an eyebrow and gave in enough to take a single step back, eyes flicking back to Voldemort.

Voldemort’s gaze flickered between him, his lips tightening in something like irritation. “You need to begin feeling out your contacts once more and at least attempting to make new ones. As Mylläkkä here has reminded me, the combination of your remaining influence, your family name, and your now much more currently suspected allegiance, dissenters would be most likely to make themselves known to you before any other.”

Grey eyes cut over to Harry, whose smirk broadened enough to show a flash of fang. "Changes are coming. Many explosive things will be coming to light in the coming months that will make people’s loyalty be tested, their faith waver. Though you were cleared, most know very well that you are truly a Death Eater; anyone ignorant and blind enough not to realize that would be useless to us regardless. Those that know better will see you as the obvious choice to speak to.”

Lucius’s lips tightened as he held back whatever expression he wished to make; Harry would bet money on it being a sneer. He flicked his eyes away from Harry dismissively and looked back to Voldemort. “Yes, my lord.”

“I believe I told you to respect your new lord as you do me, Lucius. You dare ignore me so readily?” Voldemort’s voice was smooth and coy, a ghastly smile flitting over his lips. “ _Crucio_.”

Lucius whimpered and curled in on himself, hands rising to claw fruitlessly at his chest. His pride made him try to keep from screaming, but both Voldemort and Harry knew it wouldn't last. After half a minute under the curse he had rolled onto his back and arched off the ground with a bit of blood trickling from his mouth where he had bitten his lip, and Harry sauntered over with a smirk. Straddling the tormented figure, Harry leaned down to trace his jaw with a single finger. "You’re not too good to suffer. Let me hear you _scream_." Furious and pained grey eyes locked with Harry. His smirk widened into a grin. "Come now, Pretty. If you scream for me, I'll have dear Tom release the spell."

Whether it was this promise or simply being unable to hold back any longer, scream he did. He arched violently off the ground, eyes rolling back and only making Harry's grin widen viciously at the frozen expression of agony. He waved a hand at Voldemort, who obliged him by cutting off the curse. Harry crouched over Lucius and watched the man's body twitch, one tanned hand still tracing over aristocratic features. He patted his cheek condescendingly when Lucius finally managed to make semi-lucid eye contact. "It's impressive that he can be so pretty even like this." Harry stood and moved away before the blond could retaliate, grinning at Voldemort.

The Dark Lord smirked in response, a shadow of his earlier hunger brightening his eyes. "You have a sadistic streak, I see."

"I think I'm noticing that."

With a flick of Voldemort’s wand, Lucius’s crumpled form was hovering a few feet off the ground. “Now, Lucius. We have several more things to discuss, but I find myself unwilling to sully my current good mood. I shall see to you later.” With a swish and a pop, Lucius disappeared entirely.

Harry raised an eyebrow in surprise as he plucked up his cloak and sat himself once more in what he was quickly coming to regard as his chair. “Did you force-Apparate _another person_?”

“Yes, in fact, I did,” Voldemort said with a smug grin. “He will find the accommodations in the dungeons hospitable, I am sure, after his stint in Azkaban.”

“Not like you to put off torture that you could do now for later.”

After a tense pause, crimson eyes cut away from Harry completely. After the long, hot gazes at Harry’s exposed skin the lack was noticeable. “Yes, well, he and I have much to discuss and our time together is limited. I shall not waste our planning time on frivolity.”

There was more there.  The curiosity, the _need_ to know what nearly eating at him, but Harry was wary to push his new partner too far. Instead of questioning or calling him out on his excuse, he nodded slowly. When the silence stretched on too long, he shook his head and snatched the quill from where Voldemort had abandoned it, using it to scribble a note on the raid report he also pulled to lay before him. Voldemort’s eyes darted back to him, eyes slightly wide before they narrowed. “Give it back, you impertinent brat.”

"Your mind was away from you." Harry smirked, looking up through his lashes. "So I figured one of us should be working."

Voldemort huffed and conjured another quill, seizing another parchment off the stack and hacking at it with enough violence that Harry was surprised it did not rip. "Insufferable. Is this your true plot? Kill off the Dark Lord with inanity and ridiculousness?”

Harry winked, pushing away all his questions for another time. "We'll see, Tom. We'll see."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I know I have no time. I know that I should not take on another project (and, indeed I am forcing myself not to) when I have so much I have lost inspiration for/need to finish.
> 
> But today the idea for a choose-your-own-adventure-ish, RPG-ish, Visual Novel-ish HPTR project leapt into my mind and will absolutely not leave me alone. I keep finding myself gazing off into the distance thinking about multiple endings, time travel, and twists. Kill me.
> 
> More additions here, mostly to set the stage for the horcrux-related plot additions. Hope everyone is enjoying, and _thank you_ for all the kudos and beautiful comments. ilu


	8. Anagnorisis // recognition; a moment of pivotal discovery

Who would have thought that being a Dark Lord included so much paperwork? Harry groaned for the third time in an hour, letting his head fall to hit the desk.  Voldemort made an irritated noise in the back of his throat. “Potter, cease your histrionics.”

“I’m bored stiff. How do you do this all day?”

He peeked up through his disheveled fringe in time to see Voldemort roll his eyes. “I do not, you idiot. In fact, it is _because_ I ignore my paperwork so often that there is so much to catch up on. More often than not, I am researching various possible plans to implement or meeting with Death Eaters or allies if I am not out causing general mayhem. But I refuse to be the only one tormented with this useless drivel, so you shall assist me whenever you are able.”

Harry raised his head just to let it fall once more to the desk, making a loud _thunk_ echo through the room. “You’re a monster.”

“Thank you, darling. I do try.”

With one more heaving sigh, Harry pushed himself back upright and cracked his neck. “Right. Well, at least I know next week will be more interesting with your idea about luring out some aurors. I suppose I just have to get through this for now.”

Voldemort eyed him with one raised brow—lack of hair notwithstanding. “Do you think that will take all evening? Oh no, Potter. I’ll not let you to simply swan in for a bit of a lark just to skip back to your teenage paradise. We’ll be right back here after we’ve had our fun.”

“My teenage parad— You realize I already have to do homework every single day, right? Attend classes? Play the good, wholesome savior they all know and love to keep up pretenses? It isn’t like I’m having the time of my life in that hellhole of hormonal angst.”

Voldemort ignored him, pulling over the paper Harry had half completed; it was a reply to a Death Eater hunting some artifact or another that had asked after how to kill or repel pixies. It was as if none of them had completed their schooling at all. Crimson eyes rolled and he ripped the parchment into pieces. “Don’t bother with rubbish like this. If the moron can’t deal with something so basic he deserves to die.”

“To be fair, my answer was a fake spell that Lockhart tried to teach us in my second year. I wasn’t going to properly help.”

“Lockhart? Wasn’t he that vapid adventurer who wound up in Saint Mungo’s?”

“Did your minions give you no information whatsoever about my second year at Hogwarts?”

“Contrary to what you may think, the hijinks of a twelve year old have never been my priority, Potter. Other than in your first year when I was unwillingly witness to all Quirrinus was and your fourth when Barty kept me apprised of events that were parcel to our plan for the Tournament, I have had very little interest in what you got up to,” said Voldemort, a sneer distorting his already deformed face.

Harry sat back and glared, crossing one leg over the other with a slow deliberation as he sneered right back. “So then, your little magic show earlier when your diary was mentioned was you being uninterested?”

Voldemort’s slit-like nostrils flared. “The diary is an exception; it was an important artifact.”

“Right, then maybe you shouldn’t have given it to that two-faced poncy git if it was so important? Just a thought.” Harry pushed a long hank of hair over his shoulder and leaned back in his seat. “In any case, the diary wreaked havoc all through my second year. I figured out I was a Parselmouth in front of the school because of a dueling club set up by that idiot Lockhart, but that was handy since there was a giant snake in the pipes. But I digress: between your ever-so-charming sixteen year old self and Lockhart, that year was utter hell. Lockhart was a fraud, you see; he has a thousand books about supposed adventures and heroic tasks he’s undertaken, but in actuality he just sought out those who had performed interesting feats and Obliviated them into thinking he had done them instead. It meant he was able to get the Defense job, but in reality he was a complete hack. The pixie incident was one such example.”

“What was his relation to the diary?” Voldemort seemed unwillingly interested, an irritated frown tightening his mouth.

“Nothing overt, really. Just that, once the diary had taken its chosen sacrifice down to the Chamber – and really, may I just say that you were an arrogant little sod? Why announce what he’d done and where he’d taken her? Had the diary had another hour, even, he’d likely have actually managed his plan. But I digress. Once the note that Ginny was taken to the Chamber had been found, everyone expected the great and brave Lockhart to go save her. We found him packing his things and forced him to come with us after her.

“Long story short, he blathered on like a good villain and tried to use a Memory Charm on us to get away, but he’d used Ron’s wand which had been broken all year. The charm backfired and ended up making him barmier than Dumbledore on a bad day, hence his Saint Mungo’s stay. The point of my mentioning all this is, though, that you would have known about the diary long ago if you had merely looked into what had been happening around me the last few years. Lucius had planted it on Ginny, after all.”

Crimson eyes cut toward the door and narrowed, Voldemort’s magic flaring through the room once more before he closed his eyes and exhaled loudly. “Yes, well, it simply would have meant Lucius’s death had I learned of it prior to this summer. I was not in my right mind for much of the last several years, so while this transgression will leave him very sorry for his actions, at least I will not lose a servant in the process.”

Harry nearly snorted at the correlation between the end of his second year and now and thought of telling Voldemort about Lucius’s icy rage upon losing his own servant… but that seemed petty and immaterial to the conversation, so he just stifled a smile and watched Voldemort pick up his quill once more to continue as if their conversation had never happened.

“You _are_ remarkably more sane than the last I saw you. How did that come about?”

Voldemort scoffed and twitched a finger to burn the parchment before him to ash, selecting a thick-looking rolled missive next. “That is a long story, Potter, and not one I care to tell. It suffices to say that my faculties are much improved and my plans were adjusted as such even without your sudden appearance.”

“Really? That’s all you’ll give me?”

“Work, Potter. It is nearing midnight and I assume you must return to Hogwarts at some point.”

“I am going to be losing a lot of sleep in the coming months, I can tell.” Harry sighed and let the matter drop. He lifted his quill once more, looking over a request for several rare potions supplies. It reminded him that he would need to deal with Snape sooner rather than later.

“I have a time-turner if the situation ever becomes grave, but I do not condone using such complex magics on a trifle. For any important undertaking you may make use of it. In this case, however, you will survive.”

“Yeah, I don’t think I would feel comfortable using a time-turner just to be able to do paperwork longer. It seems too frivolous.”

Silence descended once more as they worked, but Harry was at the end of his ability to remain attentive to his task. He was less flighty than he had been as a teen, but even now he couldn’t spend hours reading or dedicated to a single task. He found his mind wandering, watching the clouds part to reveal the moon through the window in Voldemort’s study. It was still more full than not, half lit and bright against the faint light pollution visible from even a town as small as Little Hangleton.

Fingers snapped in front of his face. “Wake up, Potter. We’re nearly done; don’t make me curse you when we are so close to completing our task.”

Harry blinked back into awareness, shaking his head a bit. He found his eyes following Voldemort’s hand as the man pulled it back. “You know, I kind of thought your fingers had an extra joint in them or something with how long they are, but they’re really just… elongated, aren’t they?”

Voldemort glanced down at his hand and back up at Harry, an irritated expression on his face. “Your mind is really not here, is it?”

“No really, look!” Harry grabbed at Voldemort’s hand, intent on comparing their sizes to show him the radical difference in finger length, but found himself shocked still and staring as the hand smoothly transformed in his grip. Even the skin color had changed from the bloodless, papery white to a more human pale, the fingers morphing to be still longer than most but now more elegant than spidery. A golden band wrapped around his middle finger that had not been there moments before. Harry glanced up at Voldemort to question him only to find crimson eyes wide and trained on their joined hands, his expression utterly staggered.

After a long, silent moment Voldemort looked up and pinned him with an intense, hot gaze even as he pulled his hand from his grip. Harry protested. “What in the world was that?” He didn’t hear an incantation, but he grunted when Voldemort’s yew wand was suddenly out and pale blue spell light struck him in the face. Despite not feeling any effects from whatever the spell was, Harry glared and stood, but the pale, slack-jawed look Voldemort was giving him made him pause in the rant he was working up to. “Tom? What the hell?”

“It can’t be,” Voldemort said in a raspy tone, eyes wide and unfocused.

“What did you just hit me with?” When there was no response Harry pulled his wand with intent, irritation and something like fear making him stand straight. “Tom, answer me—“

A knock sounded through the room, making Harry jump and spin to stare at the closed door with a scowl. Of all the atrocious timing in the world, _now_ is when someone decides they need Voldemort? He considered opening the door himself to torture whomever was behind it when Voldemort was snarling behind him. “Who dares?”

With a flick of yew the door crashed open to reveal a pale, frightened Draco Malfoy on the threshold, visibly shaking in fear. “M-My Lord? I come seeking my father; Mother said he was c-called to you? It is very important—”

Harry leaned back against Voldemort’s desk, fingering his wand as his own irritation mounted. It should have amused him to see his once-nemesis so shaken, but with the odd events he had interrupted, Harry was barely holding himself back from cursing the brat. Voldemort swooped from behind his desk and towered over him, reptilian features all the more ghastly for the snarl on his face. “You come into my home, interrupt me personally to _find your father_ , boy? Crucio!”

Harry had to wonder if the boy had ever been under the curse before, as his screams reached a fevered pitch only seconds after it was cast. Then again, it might have been Voldemort’s own rage fuelling the spell’s potency that caused him to writhe so, or perhaps a combination of the two. Voldemort cut off the curse after only a few more moments, disgust radiating from him. “Pathetic.”

Draco was sobbing, curling into a fetal position as shudders racked his body. “M-My Lord, it’s about P-Potter!”

Voldemort’s wand – raised to cast the curse a second time – lowered a fraction. “What about Potter?”

Harry too found himself interested, strolling forward to stand at Voldemort’s side over Draco’s prone form. He leaned his shoulder into the Dark Lord’s casually, ignoring the glare it got him. “News from Hogwarts so soon? And really, aren’t you meant to be in school, little Malfoy?”

Draco glanced up and seemed confused by the second figure beside his lord, biting at his lower lip. After a moment of looking between him he answered hesitantly. “My godfather allows me to use his Floo connection on occasion to visit home. I knew it would be both faster and safer than owling to see my father right away, especially when it has to do with Potter.”

“And?” Voldemort said darkly, making Draco flinch. “What is this news?” he said with exaggerated esses, making Harry need to fight back a chuckle.

“There’s something wrong with him, my lord! He just— he feels entirely different than he did just this summer. His Essence, I mean. His aura is completely transformed from before.”

Voldemort peeked at Harry from the corner of his eye, to which Harry gave a shrug. He still was not concerned. Voldemort rolled his eyes slightly and looked back to the cowering boy. “That is highly uninformative, boy.”

“I-I know, my lord, I’m sorry! That was why I wished to see my father; he is much better at Essence reading than I am, I was hoping to get his opinion on the matter. I am sorry I interrupted you—“

Voldemort waved his hand, cutting Draco off. “Silence and get out of my sight.  Your father is indisposed at the moment.”

“By indisposed he means in the dungeons. Would you like to see him anyway, Littler Pretty?” Harry grinned at the affronted look he got for that, exposing his fangs and making the boy shrink away. “May I show him to the dungeons, Tom?”

“Do not call me that in front of my Death Eaters, brat,” Voldemort hissed, eyes narrowed. “And get out of my sight, both of you. I expect you back here as early as possible next week P—Mylläkkä. I will have others briefed and ready to move out once you arrive. Malfoy, should you wish to converse with your father, you may follow your new lord to the dungeons.”

“As you wish. See you next week, dear!” Voldemort scowled and waved his hand, a wave of magic forcibly shoving both of them into the hall with Wormtail and slamming the door behind them. “That was rude, Tom!” Harry called through the door.

Peter was cowering away from him, pressed against the wall, and Draco looked like he wasn’t sure if he should do the same after hearing the way he spoke to the Dark Lord.

Harry gave a sharp grin down to the sniveling, still-shaking rat and delivered a swift kick to his ribs, the gasping squeak vastly improving his disposition. He cocked his head to where Draco was fiddling with his fingers, pureblood mask out the window with how very out of his depth he was. Harry gave him no opportunity to recover himself, snagging the boy by a wrist and tugging him towards where the stairs to the lower levels were situated. “So, why not try to describe to me what you mean about Potter’s… Essence.”

The boy flinched and yanked his wrist from Harry’s loose grip, cradling it with his other hand. He kept his eyes on his feet as he scampered along behind him. “My family has a bit of Veela blood in them from generations back. It makes my senses a bit different than normal humans’. I can sense… auras, I suppose? It isn’t visual, it’s just a feeling I get from people, but I’ve been told that those of purely human stock cannot.”

Harry knew this but only hummed in response; mentally, he compared it to his own ability to know when other creatures were about and assumed it was a similar function in others with creature blood. He held back a snicker at the timid, wary way Draco was interacting with him lest he get the blond into a snit before he’d even gotten to torment him a bit more. He wondered if he should make it easy on the boy and point out that correlation, but it seemed too painless for the boy. Let him wonder. “Ah hah, what a quandary. How would you describe the feeling?”

Harry glanced back in time to see Malfoy face tighten, lips gone flat and white, while he gave an involuntary shudder as they began down the stairs. “Dark, my lord. Twisted, a bit. He’s always had a weird tint to him, even when he was starting Hogwarts. Something not quite right, not like anyone else. Always figured it was the Killing Curse to his speccy—anyway, it’s like he isn’t even the same person anymore.”

He’d been… different even before? Harry nearly paused at this, but it wouldn’t do to show undue interest. He swallowed the questions he wanted to ask as he pushed open the reinforced door of the converted basement, the wards Voldemort had woven him into accepting his magic for entrance. There were only three cells; Voldemort rarely had the patience to let his prey suffer for long in wait. Harry waved his wand to reveal the doors and led them to where he sensed Lucius seething.

The blonde had felt them arrive, of course; he put up a good show of his usual overdone grandeur as Harry waved open the newly revealed entry. But no amount of quick straightening could untangle his long hair, free from its usual ribbon from the torture, or hide the way his whole frame shook from the prolonged Cruciatus.

That he tried to look presentable was understandable; Harry too had the sin of pride strong in him at times. But Lucius went farther than that, daring to sneer down his nose at Harry’s entrance as if he were somehow better than he was. This was why Harry did not think he would ever find it in himself to truly _like_ the elder Malfoy. He hated people that were so far up their own arse that they thought their shit was oxygen. Lucius even managed to surpass Voldemort in sheer, overdone haughtiness; at least Voldemort had a basis to his ego, being the most powerful Dark Lord in centuries with hundreds of followers across the British Isles, Scotland, and continental Europe. Lucius Malfoy, however, had none of that. Yes, he was a moderately powerful wizard, had influence and so-called 'pure' blood… but he’d somehow elevated himself in his own mind to the point where he believed all others should be bowing to _him_ , ignoring the fact that he regularly dirtied his knees before a half-blooded half-snake madman. Not that Harry was insulting Tom, of course, but the facts remained.

Harry prowled forward, unheeding of the disgusted sneer on the blond’s face and ignoring the younger Malfoy behind him, finding amusement in the way Lucius could not help but step away as he neared. Harry gladly took advantage and sandwiched the man between himself and the small cell’s wall, grinning with exposed fangs as Lucius swallowed and tried to keep his expression flat.

“Hello again, Pretty. I know I only saw you an hour or two ago, but have you begun to miss me yet? I see my dearest Tom’s lesson didn’t stick by the way you dare to look at me.”

He felt the way Lucius stiffened and jerked, eyes immediately lowering in a parody of deference as he sucked in a slow breath. “I would appreciate some distance between us.”

“And I would appreciate the respect I deserve. I shall give you your wish the very moment you give me mine.”

He pressed his nose to the side of the man’s long, pale neck, nuzzling there mockingly as Lucius gave a stilted, “I apologize for my earlier disrespect, my lord—“

Fangs scraping against his neck made the sentence end with a strangled hiss, and Harry chuckled against his skin, laving his tongue over where Lucius’s pulse was throbbing. “My, but you smell delicious when you’re perturbed, Pretty.” He lifted his head enough to pin the man with slitted eyes, a hand lifting to thread his fingers through the tangled, pale hair so temptingly disheveled. He made such a lovely picture, all his usual trappings of being so perfectly put together pulled away, his eyes very obviously on Harry’s lips as he licked them. Harry indulged for a moment, pressing his momentary advantage by kissing the man deeply, tongue scraping over the roof of his mouth and fangs pulling at his lower lip until it was bloodied. Ah, but he tasted divine. Harry gave a pleased purr and rocked himself against Lucius, fingers yanking at his hair until the man’s neck was bared. “You’ll let your new lord have a taste, won’t you, Pretty?”

The noise Lucius made was somewhere between incoherence and pleasure, and Harry took it as in an invitation. He bit down on his neck and moaned around a mouthful of blood, pressing closer yet to drink deeply of him. Lucius bucked against him, a strangled moan leaving him. So, his Pretty liked pain, did he?  Harry would remember that. He didn’t take much blood; barely enough to leave the blond lightheaded at worst. He ran his tongue across the punctures until the blood stopped flowing, exhaling roughly against the man as he recomposed himself. Damn, but the man was as delicious as he’d smelt. Arrogant, insufferable prick or not, Lucius was a lovely, delicious prick at the very least. For a moment, Harry thought about taking things further, seeing how long Lucius would let his sensibilities lay by the wayside… but no. It was early morning already and if Harry was going to conquer this particular sod of a man, he’d leave himself time to enjoy it.

“As lovely as this was,” Harry said, pulling himself away and straightening, leaving Lucius to sag against the wall with glassy eyes. “I have places I need to be. And I do believe your heir had need of you.  Littler Pretty, you have five minutes from when I leave the exit, else you’ll be stuck in here with your father until dear Voldemort comes to have words with him. I am sure Lucius knows better than to try and escape in that time.  Ta, loves.”

Harry spun to see Draco shell-shocked and nearly grey against the doorframe, horror written all over his features.  Harry patted his head as he passed, winking to the boy. What a nice way to end a discombobulating, roller coaster of an evening.

He Apparated away.

 

 

"So, how well do you remember your cruise on Quirrel’s skull in my first year?"

Voldemort set down his quill very deliberately, palms flat against the paperwork he had roped Harry into once again. Their first raid together had gone well; it was small but well planned, and they’d even gotten a reasonably well-positioned prisoner to get information out of for later strikes. But it had been short and the sudden rush and drop of adrenaline had made Harry even more distractable than usual. This was his first attempt at a question, though, rather than just complaints and commentary. Voldemort’s gaze was frigid. "What in the world are you on about now, Potter?"

Harry ignored the drawl and stroked at his chin with his quill. "In first year you told me that I was very much like you. Did you really think so, or were you just trying to eliminate me as your enemy?"

After a long silence, he got a snort in response, accompanied by the resumed scratching of Voldemort's own quill. "Lazy shit, you're just trying to get out of work."

Harry gave a sheepish grin to cover for his disappointment at the brush off. "No answer, then?"

"Hmm." Voldemort signed with a flourish at the bottom of a page. "I think at the time I saw certain similarities, but I could not have predicted the truth of how alike we were."

That was— definitely more than Harry thought he’d get. He smirked to keep Voldemort from getting prickly. "Except I'm better looking."

His smirk became infinitely more real as he felt a glare leveled on him, leaving him humming under his breath in mock innocence. Voldemort huffed but didn't retort.

He finished off a few more papers, scoffing at a particularly ridiculous, obsequious ‘Ode to Voldemort’ wrapped in a barely plausible excuse for writing. Really, whomever the writer was obviously hardly knew the man, not like Harry was coming to already. He peeked up through his lashes, amused and perturbed at how comfortable these meetings had become in just a few short weeks. "Fate is a funny thing, hmm?" he mused aloud.

Voldemort scoffed and didn’t look up. "Fate is a security blanket for those too afraid to take charge of their lives."

"Perhaps…" Harry sighed and pushed his finger in a circle on the desktop. He thought of his motivations, all that had kept him running this last decade. The prophecy he sought to defy, the world that tried to set itself upon his shoulders. "But sometimes believing in fate is the only thing keeping us going."

"I think a person that survives solely on the whimsy of fate needs to reexamine their life."

Harry pushed down the urge to ask how he should begin.

 

 

Harry leaned back against the manor's gate, inhaling slowly through his nose and feeling rather than attempting to see anything in the darkness around him. September was slowly dying already, faded into a monotony of keeping up appearances and finding bare hours of solace with Voldemort and Dante. He was wrapped in vexation more often than he felt any positive emotions, but he knew it was all for a reason and persevered; he hoped it would get easier to pretend as time went on. Harry could feel the chill in the air already, England predictably wishy-washy in its seasonal transition. Eyes closed and face upturned, Harry let raindrops slide over his skin and soak him to the bone, relaxing back against wrought iron. Peace. Silence. Something at least playing at serenity, even if just for a moment.

He’d been out there for quite some time when he felt Voldemort approach. "Potter, you barmy brat, what are you doing out here?"

Slowly, lethargically, he let his eyes flutter open. "Feeling. It's been quite a while since I experienced the rain."

"What is the Shadowed Realm like?"

The question was casual, but Harry could practically feel the curiosity Voldemort was restraining. They had discussed many things in the last weeks, but the last ten years of Harry's life was not one of them. Harry had given a brief outline, but had stuck to events in a rather perfunctory way, not liking the idea of exposing himself too much to Voldemort’s keen mind. As comfortable as he was getting around the man, the idea that this partnership was anything but a means to an end was far from sure. He kept himself shallow and flippant around him more often than not, though he’d felt the urge more and more as the weeks passed to go deeper. To see if he could peel back some of Voldemort’s layers as well, understand more of the man than he showed.  Harry looked over to him, his childhood tormentor, and wondered at the casual set to his mouth, the way Harry was closer and closer to sure that the strange comfort he felt was reciprocated. The rain was dissolving an inch from Voldemort's skin or robes, and Harry vaguely wondered what spell he was using. "Does it matter?" he answered eventually. His eyes slid shut again as the rain picked up, listening to the way the rest of the world was muffled by the white noise of it.

"No, I don't suppose it does. But rain is hardly exceptional."

Harry's head lolled to the side and he gave another smirk. "Exceptionality isn't the only thing that makes thing enjoyable. Sometimes the mundane can be endlessly exciting when you are deprived of it. But anyway, I think the rain is lovely. I always loved it."

Harry hadn't realized how close Voldemort had gotten until he heard the disbelieving scoff from his side, the creak of the gate as a body joined his in leaning against it. "Stupid child."

"Perhaps."

He could feel the heat of the man at his side, their shoulders just barely separated. As it had so often lately, Voldemort’s _humanity_ struck him, the idea that this bogeyman was just another person underneath. Tom Riddle had been a boy much like Harry once, but rather than having the expectations of the world set upon him, he’d had precisely none and had gone out to be better, stronger, smarter than any other in defiance of it. He’d had barely a soul alive giving half a damn what he did, if he lived or died, and so he’d rebelled by forcing the world to take notice of him. It was such a strange juxtaposition to Harry’s existence.

And the rain fell down.

 

"What did you want to be when you were little?"

Voldemort glared at him without even meeting his eyes, a feat if Harry ever saw one. "Good Merlin, Potter. Do you pull these conversations from your backside?"

Harry was rather at a loss to explain why he had such a burning need to know more about the man behind the persona he projected. He’d found the inane questions springing from his lips far too often, and he found himself choking back twice as many as he asked. He was surprised that Voldemort humored him more often than not. "Shut up, your Royal Pratness. I'm just curious. When you were a child, what did you want to grow up to be?"

Voldemort's jaw was twitching spastically, and Harry wondered if he was about to be cursed. This sort of exchange was hardly new by now, weeks into their strange partnership, but he thought Voldemort was never any less surprised and irked when he suddenly asked things. He wondered if he was really annoyed, or whether the idea of someone actually asking about him as a human being was just so foreign that he couldn’t comprehend it.

Voldemort sighed after a long pause and laid down his quill, reclining in his chair and lacing spidery fingers behind his head, peering at the ceiling. "Honestly? I never had a dream like that. My furthest dream was escaping the hellhole of an orphanage and proving to everyone that I was superior to them in every way. I hated people and didn't want to work with them. I hated using my intelligence to benefit those rotten excuses for humans. I hated the idea of doing anything but escaping to some far-off place where I could be alone. Once upon a time I think I might have been heading for a political career, but that was in no way something I dreamed of. It was more a means to an end."

"You had no goals? No silly dreams as a child? An astronaut maybe, to get away? Wait, no, you’re older than dirt nevermind, that wasn’t a thing when you were little."

Voldemort snorted. "If I had anything like that… well, I don't remember now."

"That's… sad."

"Maybe it is, Potter."

 

Voldemort sneered over the wreckage of his desk, and Harry was almost proud of himself for enraging the man to the point where he didn’t care that his perfectly ordered paperwork was in shambles.  "Potter, you are the most infuriating little shit I have ever had the displeasure of—“

"Shut the hell up, Tom," Harry snarled to cut him off, wand still held out in front of him. He was sure his eyes were glowing in his answering anger. "You started this by being a secretive prat."

"And you decided to be the little Gryffindor idiot you are, no care for repercussions. Salazar forbid anyone not tell their life story to the great Harry Potter. Why not? Should not the world bow before your Gryffindor buffoonery? What are consequences, anyway?"

Harry felt himself flush and hated it. He was just so tired to Voldemort’s blasé bullshit, his constant scoffing disregard of anything Harry thought or said. The way he twisted away from any real, serious questions. Harry’d been – increasingly less than subtly – questioning the strange reaction that skin contact had between them for weeks now, trying to understand what had happened, why it made Voldemort clam up so instantly to even have it _mentioned._ Why he was now ridiculously avoidant of even the barest brush of skin between them. It had something to do with him, too, damnit! He had a right to know! That argument had devolved into one about their partnership in general, Voldemort’s attitude, and how he just needed to tell Harry things rather than being pointlessly cryptic. He bared his fangs in irritation. "I'd rather be a Gryffindor idiot than a slimy, heartless Slytherin."

The slur would have been immature even if he’d actually been sixteen, but Harry could see that it infuriated Voldemort nonetheless. He sneered, lipless mouth curling with disdain. "We can't all be pure as you, Saint Potter."

Harry’s mouth snapped shut before he could continue to rail against the man, finding himself blinking in silence for several moments. What turn had their argument taken now? "What?"

Voldemort gave a wry smirk, eyes shuttered. He prowled forward into Harry’s space, leaning until their faces were mere inches apart. "You sound so lovely up there, surrounded by your lofty ideals. How is it, darling, to be so sure of your moral superiority? To be so righteous and infallible?” The sneer became a high, mocking laugh. “I hate to break your delusions, but how about opening your eyes to reality, Potter? The world is heartless. You fool yourself if you believe otherwise. No one really cares what becomes of you, they only care for themselves. These _feelings_ you think that you experience are nothing but delusions of the human race. We care when it benefits us, we feel anger when we are spited, we are sad when we do not get our way. Emotion is a self-serving thing, and I prefer just as well to feel nothing."

"Nothing?" Harry felt something in him tighten and had to force words through the constriction of his throat. "Who's fooling themselves now, Tom?"

Voldemort did not speak again, simply beginning to set his desk to rights with agitated swishes of his wand. Harry sat once more when all was as it should be, but even when he left that night he couldn’t bring himself to say another word.

 

“Are you _kidding me_?”

Voldemort snorted and quickly looked away, trying to look intent on his paperwork rather than the spectacle Harry was making of himself across the office, Daily Prophet in hand as he flailed in indignation and ranted. Harry was not fooled by his attempt at nonchalance.

“The Wizarding world is comprised of the most incurious, vapid beings in the universe, I swear it! Differently robed, unmasked person wreaking havoc beside good ol’ You-Know-Who? _Not even worth a mention_. I know they saw me! I cackled and everything!  Was I not properly dramatic enough? Do I need a cape? Should I get Snape to give me lessons in looming before these vacuous sods will notice that there’s another damned Dark Lord? This was our third raid together!”

Voldemort was truly snickering now, spindly shoulders up near his ears as he hunched to try and hide it.

Harry balled up the newspaper and chucked it at his stupid bald head.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not a filler insomuch as it isn't pointless, but this is a bit of a quick way to fast forward a few weeks while still giving character progression. Or, well, relationship progression. I want them having a firm grounding by Halloween so that the additions to the plot that build from there are more meaningful.... but at the same time, I neither wanted to handwave it all (and subsequently get rid of a few scenes I really enjoyed from this bit of the fic) nor write out Harry's every week in school. 
> 
> We'll be back to Hogwarts and more normal pacing next chapter. But continuing past here was going to make the chapter something like 12k, and this is where the pacing changes back so I figured breaking here was less awkward, though still rather abrupt on its own. Sorry!


	9. Compathy // Feelings, whether happiness, sorrow, or rage, shared with another

Harry yanked his bedcurtains shut and immediately fumbled for the warded mokeskin pouch that he kept his illegal, incriminating, or otherwise valuable objects in, forgoing a search through it by upending it onto his bedspread.

He batted away the silky pile of his invisibility cloak, since it was the bulkiest item, and put the tattered, dormant Marauder’s Map on top of it to get it out of the way. The glitter of wandlight over the crushed emerald shards helped him find the locket amongst the other detritus easily, and he sagged gladly back into his pillows with the cool metal warming between his palms.

The magic in it, whatever it was, never stopped being soothing. He kept it tucked away more often than not within his warded pouch, unwilling to risk any others who may be strong enough to sense magic feeling the Darkness that emanated from it. But he’d found himself doing this more and more often, tucking himself away after a stressful day of pretending to be someone he wasn’t, using whatever it was about his resonance with the locket to calm himself. And a resonance it was: he felt like his very being was wrapped in warmth when he had it pressed to his skin, something like an embrace for his soul. There were times, when it was warded away, that he felt somewhat wary of the thing; he’d learned young that magical objects with unknown origins could be very dangerous indeed. But the locket didn’t try to communicate with him or anything, it just made him feel like he was basking in warmth and comfort.

It was such an ugly thing, Harry thought fondly. But he couldn’t help but love it. He should really cast some diagnostic spells on it, try to understand what exactly it had been enchanted with.  It wasn’t innocuous, he knew. He wasn’t stupid.  It felt like Darkness incarnate, there was no way it was just some gaudy trinket. It reminded him a bit of the way he felt like melting when Voldemort was angry, but rather than shuddering and wanting to vibrate out of his skin, he just wanted to wrap himself around the locket in turn and let all the stupidity of the outside world away.

He could research it later, it wasn’t urgent.

With one hand wrapped around it, his thumb brushing back and forth over the rough, decorated front of the pendant, he scooped up the other items he’d tipped onto the bed in his haste.  His Regression and Reversion potions, his heir’s ring from Valerian’s clan, his blackthorn wand, a ring enchanted to heat in proximity to poison, a vial of Veritaserum for emergencies, and a few other odds and ends. The pouch went under his pillow, and he sunk back to relax a bit now that he was no longer surrounded by imbeciles. Merlin and Circe, it wasn’t even Halloween yet and he was already losing his mind.

The locket purred to him, wrapping around him like a lover. He sank into it gratefully.

 

Harry could tell he was being followed. He’d had the feeling of being watched for weeks now, an itch on the back of his neck, but he’d not yet been able to discern who or what it was that made him feel that way most of the time. It could even be paranoia, he knew. He’d had Snape trying to follow him around too often lately, but even when he knew his professor was not there he swore he felt eyes on him, even when there was no way anyone could be around to do so. The feeling persisted, usually when he was alone.

This time was different. It wasn’t being done well, for one thing, and for another the extra sense he’d gained that identified other creatures was practically blaring at him. Draco obviously thought he was being stealthy, however, ducking behind suits of armor and even behind a tapestry at one point, believing Harry had no idea he was there. 

He could admit, even if only to himself, that had he been the Harry Potter of a decade prior, he likely wouldn’t have.

He cocked his head and grinned, leading Malfoy on a merry chase. Might as well make this fun. He ducked down a moving staircase and around a few increasingly familiar corners, grinning as he heard the boy scramble to catch up. He almost laughed at the disbelieving squawk Draco barely stifled when Harry dipped into the girl’s restroom just above the Great Hall, waiting for him to approach and press against the door before hissing as loudly he could for the sink to open. The gasp Malfoy gave wasn’t muffled at all, and Harry dropped down the chute as he hissed again to close the sinks behind him.

He’d leave in a few minutes, once Malfoy was done panicking. He could hardly imagine what cockamamie things the boy would dream up now about what secrets Harry Potter held.

 

Neville sighed and dropped his head into his hands, groaning. “I can’t _get it_ , Harry.”

“Don’t give up so easily,” Harry said around a nearly-honest smile, sitting back in his chair. “I know you can do it. I have absolutely no doubts in your abilities. You just have to convince yourself of that, then you’ll be fine.”

Neville looked at the instructions again, moving his wand again the way Harry had told him as he muttered under his breath. When he looked up, it was with a contorted facsimile of confidence. He was mouthing the incantation as he flicked his wand again, but Harry wouldn’t tell him not to; it was the easiest way to first learn nonverbal spells, after all. Only McGonagall prohibited them from casting that way now that they were all meant to be learning to cast silently. But still only a few drops of water escaped his wandtip, and Neville gave the tiny puddle he’d formed a despairing look.

Harry nudged him with an elbow. “Nev. Seriously. You can do it. The minute you start to really believe you can is when you’ll get it. Your wand is yours now, but your confidence is still shite, mate.”

The boy’s face glowed with a blush, and he pushed back his floppy fringe as he hunkered further into himself. “It’s easy to say, Harry—“

“Think of it like with your plants. Heck, think of using it _with_ your plants. This charm would make watering them way easier, right? But you’re amazing at Herbology. You almost never need to be told twice how to do things, because you know you’re strong at it. I’ve known you for years now, and I’ve seen you get better and better at magic. Teaching you last year showed me that you’re capable of anything me and Ron are, you just have to get to the point where _you_ think you’re capable to. The confidence is literally the only part you’re missing with most of the things you aren’t great at.”

“’Cept potions,” Neville muttered, biting his lower lip.

“Well, you can’t be good at everything, right? I mean, you’re not Hermione.”

Neville snorted, shoulders finally dropping a bit. “Or you, apparently. I dunno how, Harry, but you’ve gotten even better at this stuff than you already were. Used to be you were only real good at Defense, but this year you’ve been doing better at Transfiguration than ever, and you actually got the Water-Making charm before Hermione, even!” Neville was looking at him with a furrowed brow.

He struggled not to frown or flinch at the confused not-quite-suspicion in his roommate’s eyes, instead ducking his head like he was embarrassed. “It’s just—after last year, things got serious, yeah?” He knew he should likely tone down his improvement in his classes, but there was too much pride in him for that.

Neville’s expression cleared and darkened at once, a jerky nod making his floppy hair bounce. “Yeah, I know what you mean.” He was frowning, but it was more contemplative than anything.

Harry felt a true smile stretch his face as Neville raised his wand again, focusing on the glass in front of him and swished his wand in a jay before flicking it down to the glass’s rim, water trickling in a steady stream to fill it within half a minute. The surprised, pleased joy on his face wiped all Harry’s misgivings away as he gave genuine congratulations.

 

“Ah, Tom?” Harry had been arguing with himself all week over whether to pass on what he was about to. He knew it was necessary, knew Voldemort would be incandescent with rage if Harry had to bring this up at a later date and had not told him immediately. But he also knew that this was likely to make the man furious _now_ as well. Regardless, it was necessary to the smooth running of their partnership for Harry to give full disclosure.  Voldemort glanced back up at him with a brow raised, having expected Harry to be eager to leave after a late night spent planning how to make Halloween as impactful as possible; it was already nearing two in the morning and usually Harry was out the door with barely time for a witty farewell once he was ‘freed’ from his responsibilities.

Harry sucked up his trepidation. Voldemort eyed him narrowly, crimson eyes flicking from where Harry was tugging at the ends of a long hank of his hair to his eyes. “Yes, Potter?”

“So, I think Dumbedore is giving me Voldemort lessons.”

The Dark Lord froze, spine straightening, magic rising in the air. “Oh?” he said, deceptively soft. “And what, pray tell, is the old fool deigning to teach his precious savior?”

That wasn’t an easy question to answer. Harry had spent the entire time within the memory trying to understand what he was seeing, why Dumbledore wanted him to see it.  It hadn’t taken long to understand it was all related to Voldemort, specifically his maternal family, but beyond that he was utterly lost.

Harry’s hesitation made Voldemort’s bright eyes narrow, a sneer lifting his lip. “Keeping secrets, Potter?”

“No, you great git,” Harry said with a glare. “I’m trying to find a way to coherently explain what the barmy old man has done.” He sighed and shoved a hand through his hair to push the long strands back behind him, resting his head against the chair’s back and staring up at the ceiling rather than meet Voldemort’s angry gaze. He knew this wouldn’t be pretty, even if he didn’t precisely know what Dumbledore was trying to convey. “He called me to his office after tea on Wednesday, having depicted the meeting as the beginning of important, private lessons between us. I had dearly hoped he was planning to ‘train’ me to defeat you; wouldn’t that be a lark?”

He glanced down long enough to see that Voldemort did not seem amused at his attempt to lighten the mood, sighing and flicking his eyes back up.

“The old coot has been absent more than he’s been in the school lately, as I’ve told you. He’s been agitated whenever he isn’t putting on his dotty old man bit. He was in rare form this week, though, all cryptic foreshadowing and clever non-answers. Rather than training, he pulled out his Pensieve and took me into the memory of some long-dead ministry official. It was a rather depressing memory really… all about a family called the Gaunts.”

He shuddered as Voldemort’s magic made the air thick and electric; it wasn’t fair that the man’s magic was so, so… _seductive_ when he was angry. Angry magic was usually painful from the truly powerful, but from Voldemort it was just drugging and enticing. Perhaps that’s why he’d kept so many followers even as he’d gone mad.

Harry cleared his throat and tried not to stutter as he continued. He didn’t dare look down to meet Voldemort’s eyes. “There was no real point to the memory itself, just an introduction to what a callous, inbred prick Marvolo was and how he and Morfin got tossed in Azkaban, as well as to, I think, show me both Merope and—err—“ he didn’t dare name him or refer to him as Voldemort’s father, “her future husband. Gave me his assumptions and things he’d either found out or guessed at regarding how, well…” he broke off there, finally letting his eyes drop to see the absolutely impassive expression on the man’s face. Harry waved a hand towards him awkwardly to try and indicate Voldemort himself and how he’d come to be.

“But that was it. Said we’d meet again soon because the key to your defeat was in your past or some rot. I didn’t like it. It stinks of something ridiculous he’s plotting and I knew you’d be infuriated that he’s planning to show me things from your past, so I thought I’d tell you right away but I can’t really keep him from showing me, Tom, not if I want to keep up the act—“

“Harry, cease your prattling,” Voldemort growled, finally dropping the stony expression to scrub at his face with his spidery hands. The magic was still chokingly thick in the air and Harry didn’t even comment on the unusual use of his given name. He let the silence stretch for long moments, feeling the fluctuating pulse of Voldemort’s magic run over his skin as the man stared down at his desk with a blank gaze. It was long enough for Harry to begin fidgeting before he continued. “I want you to tell me what he shows you. No matter how angry you think I will get.”

Harry had been afraid he’d say that. He swallowed and gave a tight nod regardless.

“We’ll need to see what he shows in subsequent… lessons to know what tactic he is taking in his supposed preparation of you. There’s nothing to be done in the meantime.”

“So you’re not… angry with me?”

Crimson eyes flicked up and pinned Harry in place, making his heart stutter and skip during the long moments of silence that followed. “No.” Voldemort paused again, an odd expression flitting across his features before his was looking away, snatching up a quill and pointedly not looking at Harry. “Now begone, Potter. I think we’ve done enough this eve.”

Harry left then without even his usual teasing, giving a tight nod and walking quickly to the door. He couldn’t understand the part of him that wanted him to stay behind, though. The voice in his head that bade him to linger and ask if Voldemort was all right. He nearly gave in when that same voice reminded him of the moment Marvolo had dragged his poor, homely daughter forward by her necklace, a beautiful gold locket covered in shards of emerald that was the only thing that gave Harry peace anymore. Was it selfishness, possessiveness that caused him to not mention the artifact to Voldemort, even as he now knew it was of his line and rightfully his? If he turned back, would he be a better person and instead tell Tom he had something that had once been his mother’s to return it?

His hand went to his pocket to stroke at the outline of his mokeskin pouch, Apparating away before he could change his mind.

 

Harry waved Hermione and Ron onward, slowly packing his things as he waited for the classroom to empty. A glance to Dante showed the other vampire looking amused by his fiddling, and Harry resisted the urge to make a face in response to that dry expression.

Once the last of his yearmates had left, Harry shot a quick spell at the door to keep it sealed for a few minutes. He closed his bag’s flap and hopped up to sit on his desk, legs kicking aimlessly. “You seem tired, Dante. Has everything been all right?” It wouldn’t do for the two of them to seem close only weeks into the term, lest someone decide Dante was trying to get close to Harry Potter, so between the need for secrecy and Harry’s weekly meetings with Voldemort, he’d had very little time to check in with his friend.

“I am adjusting to the potions schedule I must adhere to in order to be allowed this position, Mylläkkä. You have met clans which live amongst the mortals – the frequent use of Blood Substitution potions wreaks havoc on the immortal body.”

Harry grimaced and jumped back to his feet, approaching where Dante sat. “You’re not going to end up looking like one of those Sang tossers, are you? They’re freaky, emaciated corpses, more or less.”

Dante did not roll his eyes, since that would be an expression, but Harry could tell by the intensity of his stare that he wished to. “It takes years to reach that level of degradation. Since I am only required to hold this post so long as you are here as well, I shall not be taking the potions for nearly long enough for that level of effect.”

Pushing a hand through his annoyingly disheveled hair, Harry sighed. “I’m just worrying about you. We’ve hardly had time to talk in weeks, and likely won’t get much time until closer to Yule with the way things are going. You’d tell me if anything was wrong, wouldn’t you?”

Dante’s lips pursed just slightly before he exhaled, golden hair fluttering as he gave a single shake of his head. “Do not worry about me, Mylläkkä. I am old enough to watch after myself.”

“You know I can’t just—“

He felt the breach just as the door swung open. He nearly snarled before checking himself; no one should have been able to get through his seal so easily, but he couldn’t go reacting overtly. He turned swiftly, though, and his eyes widened when he saw who was meandering into the room, looking for all the world like she hadn’t just instantly dismantled the spellwork of one of the strongest magical beings in the world.

Luna smiled at them and plopped into a desk near the back on the far side, pulling out her Defense book and flipping through the pages. “Hello, Professor. Harry,” she greeted without looking up. “Sorry to interrupt, but my classmates will be here any moment and I thought it best if you recalled the time before it was too late.”

“Luna, you—“

She grabbed her wand from behind her ear and used it as a bookmark before pulling out some parchment. “Hmm? Harry, you should get going. You have Herbology, don’t you? You two will have better luck meeting after curfew next Tuesday, if you want to talk about your secrets more.”

He gaped at her, mind racing. Luna was always an odd duck, but this was rather more odd and _suspicious_ than he’d ever seen her. He opened his mouth to say more, but several Ravenclaw fifth years entered then, a few staring at him with wide eyes. He cut his glance back to Dante, who inclined his head. “Later,” the vampire said under his breath.

With another glance at the oblivious Luna and a meaningful stare to Dante, Harry hitched up his bag and exited the classroom, more confused than ever.

 

“Another one tomorrow?” Hermione asked, brows rising. “Wasn’t your first meeting just last week?”

Harry’s frown tightened, though he tried to disguise it as contemplation rather than disgust. “Yeah. Guess since he’s not bothering to teach me anything useful—“

“Harry!” Hermione gasped, closing her book and scowling at him. “Don’t talk about the headmaster that way!”

“Well, it’s truth, innit?” Ron said around a mouthful of potatoes. Both Harry and Hermione grimaced. “I thought he’d be showing Harry some kinda super magic to defeat You-Know-Who, instead he’s wasting Harry’s time with all this memory rubbish. Who cares how he was born, how will that help kill him?”

Hermione still looked scandalized, but she shifted in her seat uncomfortably. “Be that as it may, I’m sure Professor Dumbledore has a plan behind all this. Harry just doesn’t see it yet. There will probably be something in the memories that shows why Voldemort was able to come back to life after all those years so that he can be gotten rid of for good.”

The idea jolted through Harry, made his eyes widen and his posture straighten before he could help himself. Thankfully, by the smug look on Hermione’s face, he must have looked more like he’d just made the connection to there being a higher purpose to the memories. He hadn’t, truly, thought about _what_ that might be, though. He’d figured this was going to be like Dumbledore’s ideas about the prophecy – that _love_ was the power the Dark Lord knew not. Rubbish. The idea that Dumbledore might know what had kept Voldemort’s spirit on their plane hadn’t really crossed Harry’s mind. Was that it? He told himself he’d bring up the possibility to Voldemort at their next meeting.

“Still doesn’t tell us how to kill him _now,_ ” Ron muttered mutinously, showing a large bite of roast into his mouth and chewing noisily. “Somehow I don’t think it’s gonna be some plants, a troll, and a chessboard this time, mates.”

Harry snorted and gave a grin in return. “Can you imagine? The real way to defeat Voldemort – puzzle solving.”

Ron choked on his food as he laughed, and even Hermione’s lips twitched in response though she tried to keep her expression stern. People around them gave them their usual wide berth, darting glances towards the like they were horrified at the three of them for their levity. Harry was so used to it he hardly noticed it these days.

“How ‘bout a scavenger hunt?”

Hermione finally joined them in their laughter, and Harry basked in the camaraderie of the moment… even if, had they known his real feelings about Voldemort and ‘defeating’ the man, he knew they’d be far more appalled and even farther from him than the surrounding, nameless Gryffindors.

 

Harry’s temper had the door to Voldemort’s office crashing open before he even touched it, interrupting what looked like Wormtail trying to scrub the floor before Voldemort’s desk with his flabby stomach, the way he was kowtowing. Harry’s blackthorn wand was in his hand before he’d even thought to draw it, the Cruciatus cast with a jab and a snarl that didn’t even resemble the incantation.

Wormtail screeched at the top of his lungs instantly, eyes wild and body contorting inhumanly. Vaguely, Harry noted that he was making everything in Voldemort’s sparse office vibrate in place with his rage, but he didn’t put his mind to it as he cut off the Cruciatus and instead shot several bone shattering hexes at random, grinning ferally at the piercing shrieks each impact produced.

He was considering other ways to make the rat writhe when long fingers wrapped around his own and halted his wand. Harry noted the way the hand transformed as their skin made contact, this time the opposite hand from the last. There was a tiny constellation of moles just below Voldemort’s pinky, he observed, and there was a long scar that looked to ring the man’s thumb that curved up across the back of his hand. It was so unlike the papery-white, unblemished skin of the rest of him. Harry’s breathing stuttered as he was distracted, his rage popping like a bubble as he was yanked towards Voldemort, ending up off balance and half leaning against the man as he shook at the sudden change.

“Potter, what in Salazar’s name has gotten into you?” Were he in any normal mood, Harry might have chuckled and pointed out how nearly _concerned_ the Dark Lord seemed, brow furrowed as a finger pressed Harry’s chin to angle his head back. “And what in the world are you doing here in the middle of the week?”

Crimson eyes were narrowed in speculation, darting across Harry’s features as if he could divine the problem by the cant of his mouth. Harry wanted to grasp his face and see if the same transformation would happen there, would trade the no-longer-so-horrifying features for a variation of the teen he’d seen in his second year, for an adult version of the little boy he’d watched Dumbledore cast aside and set down his path when he was still prepubescent—

Harry exhaled hard and dropped his eyes even as he let his arms go slack, momentarily resting his forehead against Voldemort’s collarbone since the man hovered so close. The contact seemed to shock the Dark Lord, making him stiffen, but Harry took a step away before he could become angry and swallowed hard to fight back his emotions. “Sorry. Just—sorry.”

“What the hell has happened?”

Harry looked away from his once-nemesis to see Wormtail insensate on the floor, some blood pooling around his arm where fragments of bone had pierced through his skin. He didn’t think he could both meet Voldemort’s stare and keep his temper in check. “The only reason Albus Dumbledore is alive right now is because I was well-fed and I managed to get off grounds before explosion. I know he isn’t meant to die yet, but it was a very near thing,” said Harry, voice monotonous, nostrils flaring.

Voldemort seemed to hover for a moment more, so incongruous to his usual play at apathy that Harry might have teased in another moment. Instead, Harry just waited for the man to collect himself and followed him back to his desk, kicking Wormtail aside to pull up his usual chair on the opposite side of the desk from his partner and resting his face in his hands, long hair spilling around him and he forced himself to take deep breaths.

“He often has that effect on me, I must say, but what did he do to you to get you so uncharacteristically… incensed?”

Harry, inanely, thought again of the three small moles on the back of Voldemort’s transformed hand. “Why do you look human when we touch?”

He heard the way Voldemort’s breathing caught before he growled lowly, his chair scraping back a bit. Harry could nearly picture him straightening himself to sneer down the line of his non-existent nose. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“Nothing, really,” Harry said tiredly. “Just really tired of you not telling me things. But I guess that’s a conversation for another time.” He sighed and threaded his hands into his hair at his scalp, tugging at it hard to get himself back into a more steady frame of mind. He peeked up through the curtain of it to see Voldemort still looking off balance, frown crooked and brow puckered. “I had my second trip down your life story today.” Voldemort froze. Harry looked down at the floor between his boots. “Got to watch that arrogant, peremptory old bastard look at a child and decide he was a monster within mere moments.  I’ve always known he fancied himself above us all, ruling from his seat at his chessboard. Mapped out my life from the beginning, didn’t he? Let Sirius stay in prison despite his innocence so I could stay with my loving, dear family to smack me around and get me nice and grateful for him to swoop in and save. But now I know he only molded my life because he’d so utterly _fucked up_ yours. That man should never be allowed near a child again.”

Harry looked up then, meeting the flaring rage in Voldemort’s eyes with his own. “You were a _child_. And he swanned in and decided that you were irredeemable without even bothering to get to know you. And I already knew he did a lot of the same things to you as he did to me, since your diary was rather illuminating: forced you back to your own personal hell year after year, deprived you of anything that might have managed to make you even a little happy with your lot in life. The only real difference is that, once he’d cast you as the villain in his little story, he decided he needed a hero to counter you and created me to fit the part.”

The twist of Voldemort’s lipless mouth was anything but a smile. “I am sure he will be pleased with the results once the curtain call comes.”

 

Hours later, after an impromptu outing that consisted of more murder than Harry thought he had committed cumulatively in his life up until that point – that he couldn’t bring himself to care about that should have been alarming, but damn it all he _did not care_ – Harry lay in bed with the locket on his chest, the soothing magic of it making his tense muscles slowly unwind. He and Voldemort had talked more after unleashing their twinned rage, just the two of them and their wands against an entire gathering of Light and Light-leaning wizards that sat upon the Wizengamot and regularly followed Dumbledore’s agenda. Harry had given a bit of insight into his own childhood to feel like they were more even after his unwilling glimpse into Voldemort’s, and Voldemort had surprised him by trading an anecdote or two with him about his younger years.

Harry had always at least had an inkling of why the Dark Lord attacked muggles, but after his rather blasé recounting of life in London during the blitz, of his childhood in a religious orphanage where he was assumed to be somehow possessed or touched by evil – well, Harry understood a bit better now.  Not enough to sign on to killing muggles wholesale; if nothing else, it was an impossible task. But he unwillingly saw far more deeply than he had.

One hand stroked the craggy, sharp facing of the locket idly, tracing the S up and down as he stared at his canopy and tried to will himself to relax enough to sleep. He was drained after the fluctuating emotions of the evening and just wished for oblivion.

He slowly managed to drift away, locket pinned to his bare skin by his hand and expecting nightmares to hound him after the tumultuous day. When he woke, he could not recall anything of his dreams but that they were warm and fulfilling, but he was awed to feel more rested than he had in weeks despite it all.

 

Harry found his attention drifting as Hermione lectured Ron in a whisper, his fingers curling into a fist. It had helped to blow off steam with Voldemort the night before, but he was still so _angry._ He wasn’t sure why it enraged him so much, if it was the parallels to the way the old man had controlled his life, the things that likely never would have happened if Dumbledore hadn’t been such a judgmental bastard, or if it was just that look on the young Tom Riddle’s face, that desperate, wild hope that he’d finally found a place to belong—

“Earth to Harry,” Hermione said, waving a hand in front of his eyes. She was frowning. “You’ve hardly heard a word I’ve said, have you? What’s wrong?”

Harry shrugged and looked away after only a moment of eye contact. “Nothing to worry about. You were saying about Everlasting Elixirs?”

Now Ron was frowning too. “Mate, you’ve been quiet all day. You came back really late from your meeting with Dumbledore—“ both boys ignored Hermione’s exasperated ‘Professor Dumbledore!’ “—last night, too.”

“You haven’t told us what he showed you yet, either!” Hermione chimed in, leaning over the rickety library table to speak even quieter than they already were.

He was quiet for a long minute. “Do you think Voldemort was born evil?”

Hermione jolted back in her seat, brow furrowed deeply almost immediately. Ron just looked confused. “What? I mean, probably.”

“But why would you think that? I mean, he was a baby when he was born, then he was just another kid. Can someone really be born bad?”

Hermione had a lock of her hair twisting around one of her fingers, her prominent front teeth gnawing at her lower lip. “What did the headmaster show you this time?”

He relayed the scene with as few details as possible, not meeting their eyes. He nearly snarled when Ron gave a scoff partway through his recitation of the conversation between Dumbledore and Mrs. Cole. “Well, that answers it doesn’t it? If he was killing kids’ rabbits and scaring everybody before he was even ten, he must have been evil already.”

Harry’s nostrils flared. “He was a _child_. A child in a place where he was different, treated badly, and isolated. If no one teaches a child healthy coping skills, is that the child’s fault?”

“Nature versus nurture, right?” Hermione’s eyes on him were too intent, too understanding. “I’ve always gone back and forth, thought it was a bit of both. Genetics tell us—“ Ron made a comically confused face at the word, nose scrunched up as he mouthed it, “—that some traits of the personality are inherent, but would the willingness to harm others, a lack of compassion be one of them? Maybe. It could be he was born sociopathic, literally unable to empathize. That would make it from birth. Or maybe the lack of positive experiences in his younger years drove him there. Who knows. But why does that matter, Harry?”

He stared at her for long moments before looking away, clearing his throat before he continued, telling them about Dumbledore himself meeting the young man. The things he’d said. The way he’d behaved. Hermione’s eyes were rather wide by the end.  Ron looked a bit sick.

“S’not like I wanna feel bad for You-Know-Who or anything, but that seems a bit fucked up,” Ron muttered.

“Ronald!” Hermione said automatically in response to his language, though her heart obviously wasn’t in it. Her lip was raw by now from the chewing. “I’m sure there’s more to it than you saw, Harry. I can’t imagine Professor Dumebledore being so quick to judge a child like that.”

Harry swallowed his instinctive sneer in response, not wanting to open the can of worms that was his own childhood right now. Instead he breathed in and out through his nose, long and deep. “Even if there was more to it, that isn’t what the young Tom Riddle experienced, was it? All he would have seen was another adult deciding he wasn’t worth helping. Then he gets sorted into Slytherin as a muggleborn – I can’t imagine that gave him many positive experiences either.”

Hermione was pale but still looking ready to argue.  Surprisingly it was Ron who nodded and grimaced. “I mean, it doesn’t make it right, but I can see what you mean. I’d never wish Slytherin on any kid, anyway.”

Harry unwillingly smiled in response and looked away from the two of them. “I think I’m gonna take a walk, all right? Sorry, I just need some time alone.”

He left before they could argue, heading towards the Room of Requirement where he could unleash his rage without censor or judgment. Just a few more months and he’d give Dumbledore what he deserved. For himself. For the boy Tom Riddle might have been.

And in the meantime, Halloween was only a week away and he’d so enjoy the look on Dumbledore’s face once the new twist had appeared.

 

Under a strong Disillusionment charm and the light of the full moon, it was easy to follow Harry Potter across the grounds.

The boy was under his invisibility cloak, but he was obviously as dim-witted as Severus always told him he was, as even without the frequent flashes of sneaker under the folds of the cloak, the way the grass was bending under the boy’s feet was easy to see in the bright, clear night. Part of Severus wanted to go shake the boy, try to knock some sense of stealth and situational awareness into him, but more of him was too pleased by this opportunity to interrupt it.

Draco’s increasingly panicked visits to him over Potter’s off behavior had had him watching the annoying Gryffindor more closely than ever. He watched as shrewd looks overtook Potter's previously oblivious features when he thought no one was watching. He saw the annoyed, quickly covered sneers and glares shot at people around him, even those professed to be his closest friends. Severus watched threatening smirks overtake previously vapid features when the boy was lost in thought. The brat’s temper, which had always been quick, was now glacial rather than blazing.

He’d followed him once or twice in the night when the boy would sneak around, but normally he was only flitting about the library or entering the Room of Requirement where Severus could not follow without outing his surveillance. He’d been tempted more than once, but he’d wanted a better payoff than a detention for breaking curfew. All signs pointed to something much larger than the kind of annoying angst and sneakery of Potter’s usual exploits, and Severus was determined to be the one who uncovered whatever secrets the idiot was hiding now. Part of this was vindictive, always enjoying when he could foil Potter’s pursuits, but as the weeks had gone on, he grew more and more worried. His own vow to watch over the boy was not in conflict with the need to understand what he was up to now, sure that whatever he was up to spelt nothing good for anyone, least of all Potter himself.

So here he was, stalking after Potter near midnight on a Saturday, trying to figure out where the boy thought he was going. He wasn’t merely going to Hogsmeade as Severus had assumed, nor did he seem to be going to any of the favored spots for clandestine meetings between lovers as Severus had also postulated. He was instead heading to a place where the wards ended near the northern coast of Black Lake, walking swiftly and with purpose rather than wandering aimlessly.

Severus began walking faster, meaning to catch the boy as soon as he stepped foot out of the wards. No matter what information he might get from seeing where Potter thought he was going, he couldn’t let the boy wander outside of Hogwarts’s protection. There were too many dangers. But just as he, too, crossed over the boundary, eyes flicking side to side to catch a glimpse of where the brat had gone, a spell hit him in the chest and froze his limbs.

 

Harry was chuckling as he removed the Disillusionment charm from Snape, pulling off his invisibility cloak at the same time. The man’s yellowed teeth were bared in rage. “You idiotic boy, release whatever curse you’ve cast this instant!”

He was surprised that Snape didn’t recognize it; though the Mannequin curse had been originally invented for tailors and seamstresses, giving them the ability to get proper fits without their client fidgeting, once better tools had been invented the spell had instead been taken up by those with darker intentions. It froze a person in position, not petrifying them like the Body-Bind but just taking away their control of anything below the neck. Since this left the person able to be repositioned as well as scream, it had been banned as a Dark spell once it became a favorite for torture and interrogation.

“Stalking a student, Professor? That seems creepy.”

Snape was snarling, as close to foaming at the mouth as he’d ever been. Harry rocked back on his heels and grinned. “You dare, you little—“

Harry grinned, his pleasure with the situation increasing as his exposed fangs made Snape choke on his own tongue and freeze. “I dare.”

“ _Who are you_ and what have you done with Potter?”

Harry wagged a finger mockingly. “Tsk tsk, Professor. Getting slow in your old age.” Harry ignored that he was less than a decade younger. “Wrong conclusion. I’m Harry Potter, all right.”

“What have you done, you idiot child?” His voice was soaked in rage, his magic beginning to make the air crackle as he tried to free himself from Harry’s spell. But the only wizards who might have been able to were Voldemort and Dumbledore; no matter how surprisingly apt, Snape would never get free.

Harry wrapped a hand around Severus’s arm, feeling manic and gleeful. “Oh, you’ll see.”

As they arrived in the hall outside Voldemort’s office, Harry could only cackle in joy at the frozen look of horror on the man’s face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is almost 100% new. Hell, I'm only really thoroughly through the next chapter (the rest of the story has been grammatically updated, but I'm real-time going through and updating/rewriting for plot) and I've already added almost 20k. Umm, oops?


	10. Comminatory // threatening, punitive, or vengeful

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: some torture, not too graphic... but it culminates in some on-screen murder, so. I mean, I figure anyone who reads HPTR knows to expect occasional violent death, but figured I'd overwarn just in case.
> 
> Also warning for some more bits of HarryLucius. Toned down from the first time I wrote all this, though. Looking back, I rather used it as filler to keep people occupied before the HPTR started in earnest, but since I really wrote this fic specifically because I wanted to write something where Harry appreciated and came to care for Tom before he was shaggable, it seemed cheap. Poor Lucius, I used him so!
> 
> Still am, just not in quite such a gratuitous way.

Harry swished his wand to make Snape’s inert form follow him, glancing around to be sure there was no one in the hall he’d need to stun for seeing him with the wrong face. But, as usual, no one dared linger near Voldemort’s office.

He Silenced Snape when the man’s stunned muteness turned to furious, panicked hissing for Harry to get back and get out; the man was really rather optimistic despite all appearances otherwise, to believe Harry was anywhere but where he wanted to be. Harry knocked at the office’s doors with an annoying, constant beat until he heard a furious, “You annoying little twit, get in here.”

“Ah, know me before I even enter the room, love?” Harry said as he flounced in, a jerk of his wand making Snape bob along behind him.

Voldemort was hunched and scowling at a book. “No one else would dare be such a menace, Potter. You’re lucky that we have too little time this evening for me to waste any cursing you.” He glanced up then, crimson eyes going wide within moments. “What the hell is wrong with your face?”

Harry blinked and was halfway to touching his cheek before he recalled his current apparent age and laughed, shoving a hand into his pocket. “Ah, well, my usual routine was interrupted so I’ve not taken my potion yet. By interrupted, I mean that a certain git thought I didn’t notice him following me.” He flicked the mostly-frozen, silenced Severus to float between them, peeking around him to grin at the Dark Lord. A quick look up showed the man to be pale, bug-eyed, and nearly hyperventilating. “Tada!”

Voldemort barely gave Snape a glance, turning back to lift an incredulous eyebrow at Harry. “Yes, it is Severus, I see. I’m sorry, Potter, but I cannot even pretend to take you seriously looking like that.”

“So what you’re saying is that you’re not attracted to me anymore? Is the magic gone from our relationship so soon?”

Voldemort pressed his spidery hands to his head, massaging it while letting out a huffing sigh. “By Merlin, I didn’t think you could actually get more ridiculous. Change, now. We have much to accomplish tonight. We need not leave for another hour yet, but obviously now we must also deal with Severus.”

Harry finally straightened and stepped up to Voldemort’s desk, ignoring where Snape floated behind him for the moment. He extracted his Reversion potion and began to strip, uncaring of his audience. “Leave? I thought we were just planning tonight.” He was amused when Voldemort gave him a disturbed look, eyes flicking away from his bared skin for likely the first time since they’d properly reintroduced themselves. A wave of the man’s hand told him that he wasn’t getting his answer until he’d changed, so instead he pulled out the spare clothes he kept handy and placed the drops under his tongue, curling inward with a badly stifled whimper as he elongated and reformed.

He managed to keep his feet, if only just, and stepped into his more form-appropriate trousers on only mildly shaking legs, smirking when he felt Voldemort’s eyes on him once more. He tossed the long curtain of his hair back as he stood upright, shaking out his shirt and meeting crimson eyes. “Well? I thought tonight was just planning for the week ahead?”

Halloween was that coming Thursday, after all. They knew what they planned to do, but getting Voldemort in would be a bit tricky and they were still not agreed on the best way to reveal what they’d do. Voldemort’s eyes flicked down to trace the line of his hips for a moment before meeting his gaze again, propping his head on a hand and looking smug. “I thought we deserved some stress relief.”

“Well, I can’t argue with that,” Harry grumbled, buttoning his shirt and pulling on the fine, shadow-black cloak he normally wore when he was being Mylläkkä. “Hope you’re not trying to drag me along to some wholesale muggle massacre, though, Tom. We’ve talked about why I won’t go for that.”

“Hmm, yes, and I’m sure we’ll argue about that again and again in the future. But no, while these are indeed muggles that will be massacred, it is not aimless.”

Harry paused, searching that smug, twisted expression for long moments before he paled, posture straightening and his expression darkening. “And you didn’t think you should ask me first?”

“Why should I?” said Voldemort, a grin stretching his mouth. “We both know it must be done. And aside from that, it will be perfect cover for Halloween. Any out of the norm behavior will be attributed to the day itself and the recent news of your poor, muggle family’s deaths.”

Harry breathed in deeply, nostrils flaring. His voice was flat when he spoke. “We need to deal with Snape. We’ll discuss this after.”

“Ah yes, Severus,” Voldemort hissed, his grin only widening. “You’ve met my dear Mylläkkä, have you not? Now you know why I would allow such an impudent brat to stand beside me. With myself and Harry Potter side-by-side, who will stop the Dark?”

Harry took off the Silencing charm and leaned back against the Dark Lord’s desk, crossing his ankles. “You’ve been following me around trying to catch me out for weeks now, Snape. Voldemort here thinks you’re worth keeping alive, else I’d have killed you before the school year began. Personally, I think you’ve been far too long in the old man’s pocket.” He gave a fanged grin when Snape flinched, eyes flicking between the two of them and still so very wide. “So… convince me. Convince me you aren’t a turncoat after all, that you still hold the ideals of the Dark Sect. Convince me that you’re worth it to keep alive.”

Voldemort stood and joined him, leaning against the desk as well closely enough that their shoulders brushed, watching Snape’s dark eyes flash. “M-My lords—”

“Ah, that’s a good start,” Harry muttered, snickering at the quickly smothered snarl that got him.

“I have only ever been loyal to the Dark Lord. Dumbledore holds no sway over me—”

“Lie.” Voldemort’s quiet pronouncement made Snape’s mouth snap shut. The Dark Lord straightened, approaching where Snape was frozen and giving a discomfiting grin. “Do not forget whose presence you are in, Severus. A Master Occulemens you may be, but I am your foil. You know better than to try to lie overtly in my presence. You are usually much better at skirting the truth. You live only because of your use and that it was _not_ a lie that you have only ever been loyal to me. Do not think I did not notice that you did not state your loyalty in present tense, however.”

Harry leaned back on his hands. “So, what has Dumbledore got on you, Snape? Will it keep you from serving us as you ought?”

Snape snarled and pinned Harry with a glare. “It is none of your business, Potter.”

Harry smirked as Voldemort sighed and drew out his wand with a bored moue. “ _Crucio_.”

It was odd watching someone under the Mannequin curse be subjected to the Cruciatus. Since his body was controlled by the caster, only Snape’s neck and head moved, twisting in such interesting ways as he fought not to scream. The curse hadn’t been cast very powerfully, Voldemort obviously just making a point.

When it cut off, Voldemort was tapping his wand against his bicep. “Treat your new lord with respect, Severus, or that was a tickle.”

“You’re so good to me, Tom.”

Voldemort didn’t respond verbally, but his glare was answer enough.  Harry grinned at him.

Snape’s breathing was harsh as he inhaled and exhaled through his nose. “I a-apologize.” Harry bet that had hurt. Snape closed his eyes and looked defeated, like a man awaiting death. “The only promise extracted from me by Dumbledore was a promise to watch over the son of my best friend.”

Something about that made Voldemort’s gaze sharpen, his posture straighten. “Is that so?” It was barely a question, so flat was his tone.

“Y-Yes, my lord,” Snape said in a rasp.

“So you _have_ been working against me all these years.”

To say Harry was confused would have been an understatement. He scrunched up his nose and tipped his head. “What now?”

He was ignored. “Not when I could help it, my lord. You know that all I am lies in the ideals of our movement.”

“Hmm,” said Voldemort, beginning to prowl around Snape’s frozen form. “The movement, not myself. You are quite off your game, Severus, to be so overt in your verbal contortions. Do you not believe in _me_ , then?”

Snape seemed so defeated; Harry was intrigued. “I did, once upon a time. But you were not yourself for many years, my lord.”

“How did you expect this all to end, then, with your divided loyalty?”

“Either with my death protecting the boy, or my death when I failed to do so.”

Voldemort was cackling now, and Harry felt the epiphany nearly blind him. “Wait— _me_? You hated my dad!”

Snape did not turn or open his eyes, still as limp as he could be in his frozen state.

“Your mother, Potter. Severus was very attached to her. Even begged for her to be spared, once upon a time.”

Harry’s eyes widened. “Is _that_ why you kept asking her to stand aside, when you’d come to kill me?”

Both men’s eyes widened as they turned to look at him, shock clear.

Voldemort was the one to speak, though. “You can remember?”

“Only because of dementors. I’ve relived my parents’ deaths every time I’ve been near them. But yeah, I had always wondered why you’d be so keen on letting a muggleborn get away without a scratch when you’d already killed my pureblood father.”

He made a thoughtful sound before he resumed his circling of Snape, eyeing him a bit more thoughtfully now. “What do you think, Harry? What do we do about him knowing that, while he is as Dark as you or I, he has also spent the last years intent on protecting the one he believed to be my mortal enemy?”

“Mortal enemy,” Harry scoffed. “I was a child. A blind one, mind you, but I was hardly ever a real threat to you. I never wanted anything but to be left alone. Dunno, though. He’s in a good position to get us information, but he’s also a sad old git who hasn’t grown up past his teen years. How useful is he, really?”

“You arrogant little brat,” Snape spat, obviously fuming. “Just because I’ve not pampered you like everyone else in your insignificant life—”

“Pampered?” Voldemort said softly, returning to lean against the desk beside Harry. “Ah, I remember now. All those reports about what a spoilt prince Harry Potter was, the ideal life he’d led.” He exchanged a look with Harry, and they shared a wry grin. “Well, I think Potter and I need to discuss this in private for a time.” He waved a hand and Snape popped away; Harry assumed he’d been sent to the basement dungeon. He couldn’t help the shiver that accompanied watching the supposedly impossible feat of magic again done so nonchalantly. “Lucius will arrive soon to accompany us on our task, but I think we can decide Severus’s fate before then.”

The reminder had Harry’s expression darkening. “I see you still aren’t bothering to ask me whether or not I want to kill my only living relatives.”

“Why wouldn’t you?” Voldemort stood straight again and crossed his arms, looking down at Harry with a blank face. “I know how they treated you, the things they’ve said and done. They dared to treat a magical child like a slave—they are precisely the sort of muggle that deserve to be _exterminated_!”

For a long moment Harry’s frown held, but he couldn’t help his lips from twitching as his posture loosened. “Oh, Tom? Darling?” he singsonged.

Voldemort was on guard instantly, rearing back. “What?”

“I know your secret!”

“You know nothing,” the Dark Lord hissed, stalking back to his desk to begin rifling through a stack of papers, obviously trying to appear busy. “Now, what do you want to do with Severus? He is obviously completely blind to the person you are, and I don’t think respect will come easy to him if we allow him to live. If we kill him, however, we risk the Order being on its guard come Halloween, and we’ll no longer have a convenient spy in their midst.”

Harry ignored his attempt to change the subject back, rocking back on his heels with a grin. “Damn Snape, do what you want with him. Just make sure he can’t tell a soul about me if you let him live. But that’s beside the point – you _care._ Never thought I’d see you make it so very obvious.” He dodged the curse that was spat at him, scowling momentarily. That one would have killed a mortal, and would have left even him in nearly debilitating pain. “You arse! Don’t get pissy at me because you’re bad at pretending you don’t give a shit!”

“I care for nothing and no one,” Voldemort hissed in a low, furious voice, magic crackling around him. “Cease your delusions this instant.” Another curse, this one Harry blocked with a shield before throwing back one of his own, leaving a smoking hole in Voldemort’s curtains.

The next spell fired at him fairly exploded the shelf behind him, leaving Harry to wrench a thick splinter of wood out of his side and choke out a healing charm. He was livid now, snarling at Voldemort from across the room. “You are such a prick, Tom. Why do we always have to fight about stupid things?”

“The moment you cease acting like a child it will never happen again,” Voldemort growled out, hands flat on his desk from where he’d flashed to his feet once Harry was actually hit. “But instead you insist on—”

Whatever else he might have said was interrupted by a knock at the door. Voldemort waved his arm and scowled to where Lucius was revealed, the Dark Lord’s eyes slits of fury and his teeth bared.

Lucius was pale and his swallow of trepidation was visible, but he had come across them fighting this way a few times already, and Harry had watched it grow more and more old hat each time for him. “My lords, I am here as requested. I believe we are meant to be leaving?”

Harry shot a spell to remove the blood from his skin and clothing, wincing as he straightened. Healing spells weren’t nearly as good as potions, but they worked much quicker. No matter; if he fed, he’d heal a bit faster, and he could always take a potion to speed the process more later. So long as his insides stayed inside for the moment, he would deal. He glared across the room as Voldemort dismissed Lucius to wait for them and summoned his usual dark red robes he wore in public.

Voldemort’s expression was blank, but Harry could easily still see the fire of rage in him when their eyes met. The feel of their combined, enraged magic filling the room was intoxicating, but when he, too, was angry Harry could rarely appreciate the effect. 

“Severus will accompany us,” Voldemort said as his robe settled around him. “By the end of the evening we will either kill him or bind him. We will see if the trip is at all enlightening for him.”

“Would you call this off if I asked you to?” Harry asked dully, jaw set. “If I wanted this to wait, or asked them to be spared… would you?”

Voldemort paused near the door, posture stiff. He did not turn around to meet Harry’s eyes. “No. Now, come.”

Harry’s hands tightened into fists, but he swallowed down his arguments for later. While he didn’t relish any other living being actually being witness to his horrid relatives and the way they regarded him, he would funnel his impotent rage into making them scream the way he’d always wished he could.

As they appeared on the corner of Wisteria Walk and Privet Drive, Harry was assaulted by long-suppressed memories. Running from Dudley’s little minions in all seasons, slaving away at yardwork until he nearly fainted from exhaustion and lack of food, sitting at the window in the rare times he was left alone wishing to be as far away from this horrible place as he could. Harry found himself wincing along with the wizards around him, though for very different reasons.

“How… trite,” said Lucius, nose wrinkling as if the stench of muggles was too much for him to bear. Voldemort jerked his head towards the sidewalk, already striding with purpose down the street. They followed quickly. Harry found a moment to wonder at what a muggle would think, if they looked out their window in that moment: Severus and Lucius in their hooded black cloaks, Voldemort’s reptilian features, and Harry’s glowing eyes and waist-length hair. They were the antithesis to this bastion of “normalcy”. But he felt no movement in the quiet, dark windows of the identical homes and merely sped up to walk side by side with Voldemort down the street.

“What of the wards, my lord?” Severus asked in a quiet tone, the first time he’d voluntarily spoken since they’d retrieved him and given him a vague idea of where they were going.

Voldemort glanced back and rolled his eyes. “My resurrection was done with the boy’s blood. I could have come here any time since then; the Blood Wards cannot stop me.”

“And the rest of us, my lord?” Lucius asked. “The vampire, at least—”

Harry snorted in amusement. “Don’t worry yourself about me, Pretty.”

Lucius’s voice was tight with irritation when he responded. “I was not worried about you, _Lord Mylläkkä._ I was merely wondering whether you would be left outside the wards on lookout or whether my lord had other ways to subvert Dumbledore’s machinations.”

“And it is your place to wonder, Lucius?” Voldemort purred, stopping in the middle of the sidewalk in front of Number Seven right where the wards began. “In any case, we shall all be fine to cross the wards, depleted though they are. With Potter not meant to be here, I doubt the wards will be checked before morning, if even then. You, Lucius, shall wait outside—”

“Let him come in,” Harry grumbled, hunching a bit. “Forget the secrecy bollocks. He’ll have to know sometime; might as well let my humiliation be complete with both him and Snape.” Harry felt all three men’s eyes on him, but he avoided them all and turned away, crossing the street and striding away to stand before his childhood hell. “Here we are.”

Voldemort came to stand by his side; Harry could practically feel the disgust radiating off of him as he examined the neat, orderly yard with its perfectly trimmed hedgerow and late-blooming flowers. “How awful,” he muttered.

Harry snorted. “You don’t know the half of it. But anyway, how are we doing this? Blasting our way in and making a scene, or sneaking in quietly?”

“Stealth. I’d rather we have time to play with them.”

Harry could feel a sharp, wicked grin pulling at his lips. “Sounds fine to me.”

“Finally getting over your strop?”

“It wasn’t a strop, Tom,” said Harry, glancing out of the corner of his eye with his smile dropping. “You refused – and still refuse – to acknowledge my opinion in the matter despite this having everything to do with me. And rather than discussing it like an adult, you decided to play your little apathy game on top of it all. I would have agreed if you’d asked, especially if we weren’t bringing witnesses to see things I never wanted known by others.”

Voldemort stared at him for a long moment, blank-faced and still, before he grimaced and looked back to the silent stoop of Number Four. “We’ll discuss this later. Shall we?”

Harry sighed but nodded, knowing this was neither the time nor the place, and cast a mocking grin at the other two men. “Come along, boys. Let’s have some fun.”

The door was opened with a flick of Voldemort’s wand, and Harry strode in uncaringly. The Durselys could sleep through much; he wasn’t worried that their entry would alert them.  And if it did, so be it. Voldemort was already twirling his wand around, setting privacy wards and invisible boundaries that the muggles would not be able to cross, even if they did manage to escape for a moment.

“Good Merlin, how disgusting.” Lucius’s tone was nearly offended, his eyes narrow where he peered at a large family portrait hanging at the base of the stairs.

Harry grinned wryly. “Meet the Dursleys. Vernon: middle-aged, over-weight, and the smallest minded, least interesting muggle you’ll ever meet. Petunia: no real joy in her life but for the pain of others, and the feeding of her own bitterness and her fat little prick of a son. And, finally, Dudley: sixteen going on heart disease, spoilt rotten, and can’t understand why girls don’t find his love of beating up those smaller and weaker than him attractive. Such a lovely family, yes?”

Lucius was staring at him with wide, confused eyes, but Harry just gave a bitter grin and turned away, ignoring where Snape stood frozen in the entryway still. He made his way through the arch into the living room where Voldemort had disappeared, not entirely surprised to find him standing at the door to his once-room. He’d opened it, of course he had. Harry sighed and pressed his head into the doorframe as he awaited the explosion.

“Surely you jest?” Voldemort hissed, his magic building like a tidal wave. His eyes were glowing with it, nearly as bright as Harry’s already and they’d only been there moments.

“It wasn’t _that_ bad,” Harry grumbled. “I was a small child to begin with, so I was able to even stand up straight in there for most of the time it was mine. They rarely even looked at it, so I had space to squirrel away some things to keep.  It could have been worse.”

“Could have been worse?!” Voldemort spat, waving an arm in illustration towards the small door. “Why, yes, I suppose so. Instead of this stained, thin cot mattress perhaps you could have slept on the floor. Or instead of this single, bare bulb maybe you’d have had to spend _all_ your time in the dark. I’m sure it was just _dandy_.” Voldemort seemed to tower over him, already a few inches taller than Harry but suddenly looking like a giant as he stalked closer, grabbed Harry and spun him until his back was flat against the wall, Voldemort’s hand fisted in his cloak. “They locked a magical child away for days at a time to starve, only allowing him freedom when they needed a House Elf. You dare tell me it _could have been worse?_ ”

“Don’t throw my life’s story at me like I don’t know it, Tom! I am not standing up for them, I am not equivocating. I am just a realist: it _could_ have been worse. I could have ended up on the streets or in an orphanage like you did. They could have decided that the occasional smack wasn’t enough and tried to beat the magic out of me. I realize my childhood was utter shit, all right? But I refuse to be a victim and cry woe-is-me for what I got. It was not as bad as it might have been, I survived, and it is now _over_.”

Voldemort’s hand was shaking where it was still wrapped in his cloak, and Harry raised a hand now to cover it. The fabric hid the way it suddenly changed, but Harry could feel it nonetheless. He ignored the anomaly, for once, leaning in until his hair fell to block them from the sight of the other two men in the room. He kept his voice barely audible, knowing better than to let the Death Eaters hear him. “Don’t start another row, Tom, but for someone so hellbent on proving he doesn’t give a damn, you seem really quite upset on my behalf.”

Their eyes remained locked for long moments, Harry expecting retaliation at any moment for the remark. He was surprised when Voldemort only let go and stepped away, a hand moving to scrub across his face. “You’re going to be the death of me, Potter.”

“No, no, dear. That is so last year.”

He turned to his underlings then, leaving Harry to try and let the tension drain from his shoulders. He really, really wished he could have been allowed to do this alone, or at least with only Voldemort. With all he’d seen, with the things they’d shared… it didn’t seem so bad, to have Voldemort here, seeing his shame. He’d never pity Harry, never treat him any differently.  But a glance towards the other two told a different story. Snape still hadn’t moved from the entry, posture stiff and expression stiffer. Lucius, on the other hand, was pale and horror-struck. Whether this was because of Harry’s identity or the idea of the world’s Golden Boy having lived in such a place, Harry wasn’t sure. But he didn’t like it in the least. He’d need to pound into Lucius’s head very soon how very much Mylläkkä was still the same person he’d been at the start of the evening, lest the man get any ideas.

Voldemort waved a hand at the two, uncaring about whatever could be going through their heads. “Go, fetch the muggles and bring them here. I think we have some lessons to impart.”

Anticipation was building in Harry’s gut now. He twirled his blackthorn wand idly, eyes far away. He’d long imagined getting revenge on these three.  In his younger years, he’d pushed away all the darker thoughts, the parts of him that railed against their treatment and demanded blood in return. But even then, innocent as he was, he’d known he’d do something once he was of age. He’d had fantasies about transfiguring them into twisted versions of themselves, something resembling the whale, pig, and horse he’d always compared them to, or about setting charms to make everything they ingested taste like ash and shit. And as he’d gotten older, as they’d mocked him for his nightmares and still thought they were somehow _better_ than him despite the power he held – well, he’d tried to ignore the voice that told him all the ways he could make them scream, but it had been there nonetheless.

This would be… cathartic.

He heard the moment his relations awoke, Vernon's bellowing voice melding with Petunia's screeches, with Dudley's whining, half-asleep complaints following soon after. It was not long until Lucius and Severus made their way back down the stairs, the three residents of the house bobbing along behind them like grotesque balloons.

Once Lucius and Severus had maneuvered them in, Harry signaled for them to be released from the spell in front of his old cupboard. They crumbled to the floor in a heap of moans and curses. Voldemort strode to his side, sneering down at the three with disgust while Harry stood impassive, arms folded. He gave a mocking parody of a smile. “Hullo there, Dursleys.”

Vernon was the fastest to recover, Petunia and Dudley shrinking back to cower behind his bulk. “Freaks? In _my_ home?! What do you want here? We've got nothing to do with you lot while the filthy brat is away at your freak school! Get out this instant!”

Voldemort’s magic took on a tone Harry had not yet experienced, making chills run down his spine like icy fingers. He stood tall and his eyes still glowed with his fury, and his smile was chilling with his reptilian features. He leaned forward just a bit, cocking his head and narrowing his eyes. All three of the muggles’ eyes swung to him, attention commanded with bare effort. The horrible smile widened as Petunia gurgled in fear. “Do you have any idea who I am?”

Vernon had paled significantly at the sight of Voldemort, obviously unsure what to do when confronted with the snake-like visage. “A f-freak, that's who!”

“V-Vernon, no!” Petunia choked out, shaking his arm and trying to pull him back the few inches they had left before the wall. “Not him, h-he’s the one—t-the one who—”

“Ah, so one of you knows, then.” Voldemort leaned down further, making Petunia shrink back. “Tell them, muggle. Tell them who I am.”

“Who cares?” Vernon said, all bravado. “You freaks aren’t allowed to do anything to us, not really! I know your laws!”

“Shh!” Petunia hissed, obviously panicking. Her nostrils flared and her pulse was fluttering so fast in her skinny neck that Harry was surprised she hadn’t fainted. “H-He’s the one who killed my no-good sister!”

“No good, was she?” Voldemort said softly, rolling his wand slowly between his fingers. “Still a sight more dignified than you. Lily Potter met her end with her head held high, begging only for the life of her child even when given the chance to walk away. How will you greet death?”

Dudley’s whimpers, a background noise until this point, reached a crescendo at that and the unmistakable scent of urine filled the air.  Harry wrinkled his nose as Voldemort took a large step back, face contorted. “Oh Dudders, that’s disgusting,” Harry mocked. “The torture hasn’t even started yet and you’re already pissing yourself? If only your little friends could see how strong and brave you are now.”

“A-And who’re you?!” Vernon bellowed. “Leave my Dudley alone!”

“Ah, Uncle, don’t you recognize me?” Harry said with a sunny grin, exposing his fangs and making all three flinch away and pale bone-white in terror. “You had to realize I’d be back one day. That the restrictions on my magic would not last forever. Didn’t it ever cross your tiny, underdeveloped mind that I’d come for revenge?”

“We should have let you die as a child!” Petunia shrieked. “Bad stock, like Marge always said! You never should have lived when my sister didn’t! She was a twit, Lily was, running off into her stupid little fairytale and forgetting all her responsibilities! She never did a damn thing to earn all the praise she got! But at least—”

Surprisingly, it was not Harry that broke to curse her first. He spun in place with wide eyes once he realized who had shouted the Cruciatus’s incantation, watching unholy rage darken Severus Snape’s face to something almost demonic. His eyes were wide and wild, his lank hair disheveled as he moved closer to where he held Petunia writhing, yellowed teeth bared in a snarl. “You have no right to speak a single word about Lily!”

Voldemort’s hand moved to grasp Harry’s wrist and hold him in place, but Harry wasn’t thinking of moving. He remembered Voldemort mocking Snape, noting that he’d been fond of Harry’s mother, but this kind of fury was beyond anything Harry’d ever seen of him… and he’d seen Snape very angry quite a few times.

When the Cruciatus was released, once Petunia was at least somewhat lucid again – Voldemort easily held back Vernon and Dudley with a silent spell – she looked up to meet Snape’s eyes and her own widened. “Y-You! You filthy boy! It was all your fault anyway! If you hadn’t gone f-filling her head with all that magic rot when we were children, she’d have never turned out like she did!”

“She was a witch before I told her anything about magic,” Snape hissed. “And she would have been with or without me. Maybe if you’d tried being happy for your sister, _Tuney_ , instead of being a bitter old hag—”

“Severus, I believe this evening is meant to be about Harry, not your childhood recriminations, hmm?” Voldemort broke in, releasing both the spell that kept the Dursley males in place and Harry’s hand. Vernon was bellowing in rage, tripping over his hands in an effort to crawl to his wife, but Dudley stayed frozen in his terror, staring at them all in deep shock.

Snape turned and bared his teeth, more at Harry than anything, then spun on his heel to face Petunia once more. “Enjoy your last minutes alive, you disgusting bitch. You’ve never been half the woman your sister was.”

Then he was storming away, the crack of his apparition sounding over the hysterics from the muggles.  Voldemort’s brow was raised. “My, he’s brave. I’m not sure whether to reward that by letting him live or punish him yet more for daring to leave without my explicit permission.”

Harry shook his head, pushing his long hair behind him and straightening his posture. “Forget him. We’ll deal with him after. He’s either gone back to the manor or he’s trying to run; if it’s the latter, we’ll find him.  If it’s the former, I’m sure you have something up your sleeve to deal with him.”

Voldemort grinned. “Indeed.” He turned back to look at where Petunia was still blubbering, with Vernon ineffectually trying to soothe her. “Shall we, Potter?”

Harry flicked his wand with a bored expression. _“Avada Kedavra_.”

Voldemort gave him a hungry look as the green light washed over his aunt, raking his eyes up and down. “You know, I didn’t have doubts, precisely, about your abilities… I’ve seen you deal out much death and destruction these last months. But I don’t think I quite believed you’d be able to cast that particular spell so nonchalantly.”

Harry rolled his eyes, amused as he watched Vernon begin to shake Petunia’s limp body. “Just because I’m more creative when I kill people doesn’t mean I don’t have the ability to cast the Killing Curse at will. I just find it boring.”

Voldemort’s gaze did not waver. “And the requirements for its successful casting? The true wish for the death of your victim?”

“I’ve rarely had trouble casting it in years. But truly, if there are any people on the planet I want dead more than these three, I don’t know them. Maybe Dumbledore, but even that is stretching it.”

Voldemort smirked and turned back, his own wand out. “Shall we have fun then, darling?”

“What did you do to her, boy?!” Vernon howled, trying to stand now. “You ungrateful little wretch, after all we did for you?! Set her right this instant!”

Harry felt a mix of fury and pleasure sweep through him as he flicked his wand, casting a bone-twisting hex that made Vernon fall back to his knees, yowling in pain. He cast it again at the other leg, then swished his wand around to get the bastard out of the fetal position he’d curled into. Harry smiled wickedly at Dudley as he did this, seeing the boy’s terror-glazed eyes follow his every move. “Aren’t you glad, Dudley, that you never questioned your parents? That you went along with the way they treated me? I could have forgiven the way you treated me when we were children, but you are well on your way to being a miniature copy of your father. And you see how pathetic _that_ is?”

He cast the Constriction curse twice, once on Vernon’s neck and again on his balls, laughter bubbling through him with the rush of Dark magic as the man’s voice rose to a shriek. He let it start out as just a squeeze, grinning over at Voldemort and seeing an answering pleasure in his eyes. “Now watch how fun this curse can be.”

He flicked his wand to cast it again and again, upping the intensity with every rush of magic. Vernon was doing nothing but giving wheezing little shrieks now, eyes bugging out of his head and face gone blue, whole body twisting as he tried to find relief or air or both. Harry concentrated on the lower curse, letting Vernon continue getting at least sips of air as he tightened the constriction on the man’s lower anatomy one more time, glee stretching his lips as blood began soaking his trousers.

Between the shock and the lack of oxygen, he didn’t last long. Harry could feel the moment the man’s heart gave out, the way his whole body convulsed before laying still. As he let his wand drop, he felt a bit like something heavy had been removed from his shoulders, and in combination with the Dark magic still rushing through the air and his veins, he felt giddy.

He stared at where Dudley was whimpering but turned his back on him. He gave a grin to Voldemort, nearly bouncing in place. “I don’t think I give a damn what happens to that little cretin.”

“Oh?” said Voldemort, head cocking. “Gotten your jollies already, Potter?”

His grin went wicked, leaning forward and walking two fingers up Voldemort’s chest. “Well, no, not yet. But I do think I need to have a little chat with your minion lest he think my identity means he can treat me any differently, so I suppose there’s still a chance for that.”

The Dark Lord gave a startled laugh, the way he grinned showing he was just as near to high on the magic in the air as Harry was. “Go on, then. With my regards.”

“Ah, but I do adore you, Tom.”

He walked to where Lucius was still standing stiffly, staring blankly towards the corpses of Harry’s aunt and uncle with his eyes far away. Harry snagged him by his robes and yanked, pulling him along towards the kitchen. “We’ll just be a moment!”

“Take your time,” Voldemort purred, already approaching where Dudley cowered. “We’re in no hurry any longer.”

The dining room door had hardly swung shut before Harry had Lucius against the wall, a smirk playing on his lips. “Have you missed me these last weeks, Pretty? I've hardly had time to play with you.”

Lucius bucked outward, trying to wrench himself from Harry's grip. “Potter, get your filthy hands off of me, you dirty-blooded oaf!”

Harry hummed, leaning into the motions and keeping the blonde pinned with his weight and ready to cast a spell to keep him there if he dared revolt. “You didn't fight nearly as much when still you only thought of me as Mylläkkä, Lucius.”

“And I feel infinitely dirtier for ever allowing your hands on me in light of the revelation. Now let go this instant.”

Harry did, stepping away with a calculating grin. His wand pushed into the taller man's chest, the smile not leaving his face. “ _Produxi Tormentus_.”

Harry felt he understood Lucius rather well at this point in time, two months of meetings in the manor, quick stolen snogs and amusing reactions all. He was always mildly impressed by the blond's endless sense of pride that caused him to attempt to hold his reaction to the Cruciatus. Then again, he was also terribly amused that Lucius would actually prolong torture sessions in order to preserve his overinflated ego. This, however, was not about breaking the blond.

A sharp hiss left Lucius's lips, his head falling back against the wall as the curse coursed through him. The steady stream of mild pain caused his fists to clench and unclench, an expected reaction to the sensations. Harry watched the expressions that crossed Lucius's face with pleasure, relishing in the knowledge of what he was doing.

The Prolonged Agony curse had been created by a reclusive witch in the late 1200s, before the Unforgivable Curses and before many of the favored torture curses of the modern day. In comparison to the Cruciatus it was seen as weak; it took many long minutes to build up to that level of anguish and even then only if the caster was strong. Understandably, it had fallen out of favor due to the better choices. However, when one was as much a masochist as Lucius… Harry licked his lips as Lucius shuddered and slid slowly down the wall.

Harry dropped down, his knees on either side of the glassy-eyed blond, his hands braced on the wall to either side of Lucius's head. “You don't want my hands on you, Pretty?” he cooed, lips grazing Lucius's ear. “Then whatever shall I do?”

Silvery gray eyes rolled back as the spell's staccato beat increased in tempo, back arching away from the wall. Harry backed away to avoid being pressed into with the movement.

Dipping his head, Harry let an elongated fang trace Lucius's jaw line. He moved at an excruciatingly slow pace, watching in fascination as the pale skin swelled and darkened in its wake. “There are many things that do not require hands, you know,” he murmured, flicking out his tongue against the blond's earlobe. “What would you like, Lucius?”

A muffled noise between a whimper and a groan was his response, though Harry knew that Lucius would never admit that either sound could be produced by a Malfoy. He let his tongue drag teasingly down the pale throat, pausing to lave across the bobbing Adam's apple, continuing down towards a collarbone. The echoing screams of torture from the living room completed Harry's ecstasy and drove him forward.

Lucius shuddered and arched towards him, but again Harry backed away as he tried to press into him. “Tsk tsk, Pretty. None of that now. Or… have you forgotten that _I_ am the one in control?” Harry asserted this point by pushing forward roughly with his mouth, letting his fangs sink into the tender flesh partway. Lucius groaned freely this time, and Harry grinned as his tongue slowly ran over the blood that surfaced. “I am your master, Pretty. You would do well to remember that. Who I was born as has nothing to do with that. You will obey me nonetheless.”

Harry pulled away and Lucius whimpered, a gasp escaping him as the spell again increased in intensity. Harry watched with sadistic enjoyment as Lucius writhed while he struggled to maintain his composure, seeking to acclimate to the new intensity of pain. Harry chuckled under his breath. “Do you want something, Lucius?”

He let his body tilt toward the blond, close enough for their clothing to brush. His breath fanned across Lucius's lips as glazed eyes locked on his own. Harry enjoyed how rumpled he was, feeling inordinately pleased with the number of pegs he was bringing the blond down. He could feel Lucius's muscles twinging rapidly as an effect of the spell, could smell blood where the blond was biting his tongue. It was times like this that he wished he could stand the Malfoy, because he was certainly addicting to his senses. Pale lips fell apart and Lucius began panting, lips moving silently in an effort to speak.

Harry flicked out his tongue to capture a fleck of blood from Lucius's lips. “What's that?”

“T-To…” Lucius moaned again, his head snapping back into the wall and cutting off whatever he had meant to say.

Harry let out a groan of his own and leaned forward, tracing the pale lips with his tongue teasingly. “What do you want me to do, Pretty?” he breathed out, shuffling just a bit closer teasingly.

“T-Touch me now, you infuriating fool!” Lucius gripped Harry by the hair, pressing himself upward.

Harry couldn't resist the urge to grind back, hissing as their erections pressed together. He pulled away before he could lose himself in the delicious friction, forcing on a grin and trying to calm his breathing. This wasn’t about him. “You didn't say please, Lucius.”

“F-Fuck you, Potter!”

Harry flicked his wand to simulate something pressing steady and motionless against the man’s cock. _//_ _Such a dirty mouth, Luciusss.//_ Harry drew out the last syllable of Lucius's name and watching as the lust in his eyes intensified. _//There are much better things a dirty mouth like yours could be doing.//_

Lucius moaned, eyes rolling back and the spasms of his muscles escalating. Harry knew he wasn't going to last much longer under the curse; even though the severity was dulled, Lucius had already been under it for long minutes. Harry closed his eyes and gave up on the slow torture after a short consideration, realizing that there was no way he was keeping his own composure if this didn’t end soon.

“Scream for me, Pretty,” Harry breathed out, sinking his fangs into the blond’s neck.

The increased agony coupled with the sexual stimuli broke the blond easily, and his head made a loud cracking noise against the wall and he threw it back, screaming out in mingled pain and pleasure. Harry drank him down just enough to make his head spin, pulling back in time to watch the perfectly delectable sight of Lucius coming. Panting, Harry somehow managed to grab up his wand again, swishing it in a jerky motion and muttering the incantation to end the curse. Part of him wanted to wrench open his trousers and finish himself off, harder than he’d been in ages, but the rest of him couldn’t let himself be lowered with Malfoy of all people. He needed this as leverage, he couldn’t let the blond think he had a leg up on him by having gotten a leg over, no matter how reversed their positions.

Harry leaned away from the still-dazed blond, smirking to himself at the effect he had on him. He chuckled as he stood. “You'd better come back to yourself soon, Pretty, or we might leave you here in muggle suburbia.” This seemed to rouse Lucius somewhat, as his eyes met with Harry's and a scowl began overtaking his features. Harry laughed again and winked. “Feel free to join Tom and me when you’re presentable.”

Leaving a slowly more aware and fuming Lucius, Harry strolled back into the living room with only mild discomfort, grinning as he looked at the broken, bloody form of his cousin. It seemed Dudley was still alive by the ragged rise and fall of his chest, but only barely.

Voldemort smirked at him. “Did you have fun, Potter?”

Harry grinned. “Why yes, Tom. Thank you ever-so for the suggestion.”

“Lucius drowned out the screams of the muggle. What _did_ you do to him? I'd rather you not do too much damage to my Death Eaters.”

Harry chuckled. “Nothing he didn't enjoy, I assure you,” he winked at Voldemort, getting a leering grin in return. “But enough about that. Are you about done here?”

Voldemort snorted and eyed Harry with a hungry look. “One of these days, Potter—”

“Get a nose, Riddle,” he scoffed, giving him a grin. Really, times like this he almost wished he could bring himself to take Voldemort up on the implied offer, as he had a feeling the experience would be absolutely mindblowing. But as much as Harry liked snakes, and as much as Harry got along with Voldemort… no.

“You're such a _vain_ little child.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “And you weren't at my age? I smell bullshit.”

Voldemort chuckled, flicking his wand to cast a Killing Curse as an afterthought to still Dudley’s feeble writhing. “Of course I was. Vanity might as well have been my middle name, but I had good reason for it.”

“Indeed you did,” Harry purred, stretching and feeling the oddest sort of warmth wash over him. He was at Privet Drive, the source of near torturous years of slavery, childish nightmares and murdered dreams… but he wasn't bound by the Durselys' neglect anymore. He would never have to come back to this hellhole again. His grin faded to a genuine smile at the Dark Lord. “I didn't even realize that I needed it.”

Voldemort didn't reply but for a nod, turning making his way to the front door. Harry breathed in deeply and closed his eyes as he relished his first moments of true freedom from his childhood, and only hoped that Voldemort understood the 'thank you' that Harry couldn't bring himself to give.


	11. Adumbration // to foreshadow vaguely

Harry stayed leaning against Voldemort for a moment even as the constricting sensation of side-along apparition faded, eyes cutting towards the door. “Well, would you look at that? He came back here after all.”

Voldemort hummed, rolling his wand between his long fingers. “Have you decided?”

Harry grimaced. Part of him, the part Voldemort would likely mock as sentimental, railed against the idea of killing Snape. Not only was the man in a prime position for intelligence gathering, but that younger, more naïve part of Harry that often spoke up in times like this reminded him of all the times he knew the man had saved his life. Every year, in fact, in one way or another. And aside from that… if he was understanding correctly, he’d been close with his mother for years. While Harry had plenty of people around him telling him all about the man his father supposedly was, other than vague comments on her fiery temper and excellence in certain subjects, no one ever talked about Lily. Not that that was a viable reason to keep Snape alive; he doubted the man would tell him anything even if he asked.

His hesitation must have shown, as Voldemort sighed before pulling away from him, pacing back to his desk. “I thought you might not have the stomach for it. And Severus is, indeed, an asset to us. I have developed something to assure that we are not making a mistake.”

“Oh?” Harry perked up, instantly following after the Dark Lord. He loved seeing the ingenious ways he crafted things; for all Voldemort’s genius, Harry thought his real strength was in the way he could take the existing and twist it into something new. He was a downright virtuoso of spellcrafting, of linking together many things to make a magnificent whole.

“Mmm,” Voldemort said with a pleased smile, pulling out one of his desk drawers and removing something that resembled a plain cuff of metal and a piece of parchment with it. “I want you to look over my incantation; this had to be done in Olde Magick to get the specificity of results we’d want, but we need to be sure I’ve covered all angles.”

Harry took the paper covered in Voldemort’s scrawl, quickly reading over the verses of the spell. Olde Magick was the foundation of the simple incantations used in contemporary Wizarding society, and it was vastly more flexible than the specific Latin and wand movements for all that it was much more wordy and complicated to cast. Harry had always thought it was beautiful, though, and had been fascinated with it for years. Voldemort must have remembered him mentioning this, to trust Harry to know what to look for in the spellwork.

He read it again more slowly, trying to pace the lyrical chant in his head in the way it would need to be cast to work. Olde Magick was done in cadent verses that were more poetry than function, but that had a magic of its own. Voldemort’s proposed spell was not so flowery as many of the old examples; there was no ‘double bubble, toil and trouble’ to it, but it was a masterful use of words to bind Snape’s actions with a graceful economy of language that Harry envied.

“This here,” Harry said pointing to one of the earlier lines, “where you’ve used ‘pass’ to describe information transmission. We should likely use ‘communicate’ or ‘convey’ instead, if you can work it in. I know you’ve been pretty specific in later lines, but that will help the primary binding if it is more specifically against any form of him trying to tell.”

Voldemort hummed again and took the paper back, conjuring a quill and tapping the feather against his mouth for a moment. “How about, then, ‘not a hint shall he communicate, in no way shall he convey’ before leading into the stipulations meant to cover Legilimency and potions to circumvent?”

“Likely a bit more elegant than rhyming pass and bypass, anyway.”

“Do shut up, Potter. I’m a Dark Lord; poetry was not one of the requirements for the title.”

The edits were made quickly, only a few word choices quibbled over before Voldemort had pulled his wand back out and was hunched over the metal. Harry couldn’t help getting chills as the man cast the long spell, his already compelling voice made seductive as he imbued his magic into it.

The final product was a simple ring of dark metal that didn’t seem to reflect light at all. Harry couldn’t help praising the result, pleased when Voldemort began to look uncomfortable and shifty. It was how he knew the man could tell his compliments were genuine.

“Shall we call him in?”

Harry concurred and moved to the door, leaning into the hall to spy Severus standing straight-backed and rigid only a few steps away. He gave a mocking grin and cocked his head. “Come in, Severus.”

He enjoyed the way the use of the professor’s first name made him twitch, bowing grandly to usher him into the study. Voldemort was leaning back against his desk with the band in hand, turning it again and again as he watched Snape with shrewd eyes. “Do you feel enlightened, Severus?”

Snape stiffened, his previously tense expression melting into forced blankness. “My lord.”

Voldemort looked irritated. “I believe I asked a question, Severus. It was not rhetorical.”

Dark eyes darted to Harry, who was not one to make anything easy on someone. He smiled smarmily. Snape looked away, eyes hooded. “My preconceptions about Potter seem to have been mistaken. It is clear that he was not spoiled as a child as I had believed.”

“And?”

Snape shifted, and Harry wondered what Voldemort was trying to get out of him. “My lord?”

“Do you have further objections to Harry’s place at my side, Severus?” Voldemort said in a falsely sweet tone, arching a brow.

“I would never question my lord’s wisdom.”

Harry was glad he wasn’t alone in snorting at that, he and Voldemort exchanging a look. “Hmm, so you say. Will you have trouble serving both Harry and myself as you ought?”

The continued use of his first name, even if not directly to him, left a strange, tumbling feeling in Harry’s chest. He willed himself to ignore it.

“No, my lord. There is no place in this war for me but the Dark, and I would not rather be elsewhere.”

Voldemort rolled his eyes. “So subversive. You’ll forgive me if I don’t believe your word, Severus, as you’ve proven quite handily how little that means. Give me your arm.”

After a pause that was nearly insubordinate, Snape held out his marked arm, a fine tremble apparent as Voldemort shoved up his sleeve. A hissed incantation in Parseltongue had the band wrapping around the man’s forearm, bisecting the Dark Mark and resizing to fit snugly.

Voldemort gave a rather taunting smile as he prowled around Snape like a predator, more feline than anguine. “You will not be able to tell anyone of Potter’s alternative identity. You shall not hint, attempt to dose yourself, let Dumbledore read it from your mind, or bloody pantomime what you now know. I will not tell you the consequences should you attempt to test these restrictions, but I think you are intelligent enough not to push your luck. You only live because of your use to us. Cease being useful and I will end you in a moment.”

“M-My lord,” Snape said, bowing deeply. Harry was impressed that Voldemort had gotten him to stutter.

“Off with you. I believe Potter may have tasks for you, but I assume they can be conveyed another time?”

Harry nodded. “I’ll come to you, Snape.”

The man fairly scurried for the door, but he was caught in the back by a wandless Cruciatus that sent him tumbling flat on his face and wailing. Harry grinned at the underhanded move, dropping into his seat across from Voldemort’s desk and kicking up his feet over the arm as he watched his Potion’s professor writhe.  It was over in only a minute, but the satisfaction remained. Snape was gasping for air even as he scrambled to his feet and disappeared into the hall, leaving Voldemort to scoff and make his way back to his desk.

Harry had a moment of profound epiphany suddenly and without warning, watching Voldemort settle himself in his ornate chair. The movements were habitual for the man when he was pleased; he tipped his hips to the side, swept his robes straight with one hand, sat with a graceful flourish, and his hand fluttered above his desk for just a moment before conjuring a quill. The small idiosyncrasies were all so familiar to Harry, having seen them what felt like a thousand times already in the few months they’d been associating with one another. He realized he had catalogued a myriad of little movements and expressions of Voldemort’s to tell him the mood he was in, the path his mind was taking. Only a dozen or two meetings and already he felt like they’d been working like this for years, like this was the way things had always been.

How had he gotten to this point? How had his life changed so inexorably in such a short time? When had his partnership with Voldemort become so much more than a means to an end?

A few months ago, he had been near dreading coming back. A few years ago, he had still considered Voldemort his worst nightmare. And here they were, sitting across a desk just as they had so many nights before, working in tandem like this was the way it was meant to be. Weren’t they prophesized enemies? How could enemies, no matter how similar, be so quickly comfortable in one another’s’ presence?

He wondered, if their lives had been different, if they could have truly been friends. If he’d been only Harry and Voldemort had been only Tom, just two ordinary wizards who crossed paths. Without their shared childhoods, would they have still had enough in common to match so well?

“Have you even wondered how your life would have turned out if you hadn't had to grow up in the orphanage?”

Voldemort stopped writing at the sudden question, slowly turning darkened, serious red eyes up to meet green. He looked incredulous, though Harry couldn’t blame him. He wasn’t sure why he’d verbalized the question at all. But his train of thought seemed to have derailed somewhere between realizing how damnably fond of Voldemort he’d become and trying to understand how they’d gotten to where they were.

For a man without any body hair, Voldemort did a good job of projecting incredulous scorn with just a lift of his brow. “And what, exactly, brought this on? Haven’t we had enough tormentous revisitings of our childhoods?”

Harry shrugged, refusing to acknowledge the way his neck and ears heated at the reminder or how his stomach dropped. “Ah, I know. I didn’t mean to provoke any more deep conversation or anything. After tonight, I was just trying to imagine who I might have been if I’d had a different start, or even just lived with anyone but my _loving_ family. Don’t you ever wonder the same?”

“Pointless hypotheticals are useless.”

That was a rather expected answer. But it didn’t stop the wish to know that grew in Harry’s chest, the part of him trying to envision young, brilliant Tom Riddle without a chip the size of Britain on his shoulder. “Come on, Tom. Didn’t you ever wonder how different you would have been?”

Voldemort sighed and scrubbed his hand over his face after setting aside his quill. “When I was a teen and younger, yes. All the time. What orphan didn’t?” He gave Harry a meaningful look, and Harry felt his insides clench. “But that was a long, long time ago. You realize that I turn seventy years old this year, Harry? I've expended all my what-might-have-beens by now.”

Harry gave him a wry smile. “You actually called me by my given name.”

“So I did.” Voldemort was looking away from him, and Harry could tell that was intentional. He moved on quickly, and Harry ignored the twinge of regret. “You know that I wouldn’t have wished your upbringing on even you, don’t you? You’ll notice there are few orphans of my first campaign. If the parents needed to be killed, the children generally were as well. After my childhood, I had no wish to inflict another magical child to a life like mine.”

“Yes, I had noticed. I doubt those without our experiences would consider it a kindness, though.”

Voldemort snorted. “No, I assume not.”

“Do you ever regret the way things turned out? The way your plans went astray? I know you had huge plans, once upon a time, for a revolution of a very different sort.”

“Regret is for people unable to accept their own actions. I may be able to see my mistakes in hindsight, know I should not have made them, but regret is foolish and changes nothing. It is looking back and dwelling, wishing to change things unchangeable. I recognize that what is done is done.”

A sad smile curved Harry's lips. “I don’t know that knowing better makes us less prone to wishing we could go back and change things, Tom. Though I envy you your surety.”

“Do not envy me, Harry. All we can do is move forward.”

Harry picked up his abandoned quill and forced himself to look over a letter from a small werewolf pack that was requesting aid but was light on promises in return. He regretted so many things, most of them out of his control. But he supposed Voldemort was right; what point was there to regretting? He had to accept that the past was past. He’d never know what his life might have been. And for that matter, for all that he could hardly believe the way things were currently going, he was… happy with how things were turning out. He had things to do, was vital and useful. He hated nothing more than feeling useless, and this was the most fulfilled he'd felt in his entire life. At Voldemort's side, planning for their takeover of the British magical community, he was happier than he'd ever been.

And wasn’t that the shocker to end them all?

He found himself contradicted only moments later, stunned into utter stillness when Voldemort spoke once more, voice quiet and so unlike his usual clipped tones that it made Harry’s heart clench. “I think I might have hated myself if I had had a different life.”

After a long moment of stillness, Harry exhaled in a long, slow huff that left him feeling empty. He gave a parody of a smile to the paper before him, words blurred together. “Well, I rather like you as you are, if that helps. If you would have had a different life, we wouldn't be here.”

He couldn’t bring himself to raise his gaze to meet Voldemort’s, though for long minutes he could feel the steady burn of crimson eyes boring into him. He silently passed the missive across the desk without looking up, having made notations in the margins. Voldemort, thankfully though, said nothing, eventually moving to pick up his quill and begin drafting a reply.

They did not work for long. Harry shook himself out of the strop he could feel himself falling into, focusing on the paperwork only long enough to feel like he could pretend the previous conversation hadn’t happened. A yawn forced its way out of him before he could even raise a hand, startling him. He blinked rapidly and cast a quick Tempus, grimacing at the time. It was nearly dawn already. He drooped, head falling to rest against the desk. “This whole week is just going to be sleep deprived Harry trying not to bungle everything.”

Voldemort’s voice was a bit stiff, though sarcastic enough to make Harry feel they’d both ignore the previous conversation without issue. “Can’t have that, can we? You may use my Time-Turner tonight, if you must. You can then get back to Hogwarts at something like a decent hour and sleep.”

‘That—I would actually really appreciate that.”

He finally tried to meet Voldemort’s eyes, but the man didn’t raise them as he flicked his wand in the direction of the door and caught the golden necklace as it flew in. “Aim for some time around eight in the evening, and go upstairs to travel since no one would dare be near there. I am sure you can find something to occupy yourself until midnight when you arrived here.”

Harry took the Time-Turner and slipped it around his neck. “Thanks, Tom. We never did get to discuss Halloween, though.”

“No matter. We planned for you to sneak away the night before anyway, so we will finalize plans then. There is not so much left to think about that it will hinder us. Now begone, Potter. I have things to finish so that I, too, may actually get some sleep. Leave the Time-Turner somewhere I will find it easily.”

Harry thought Voldemort might be at the end of his patience for the night, so he rose and left with less fanfare than he usually would have used. It had been too much of an emotional rollercoaster, that evening. His relationship with Voldemort was ever-evolving and never seemed to stop being more complicated.

Harry wished he could honestly say he wanted it to stop. He could not.

The stairs to the upper level were unlit and dusty, but he’d been up once or twice when he was being nosy and recalled the bend in them before he managed to run into a wall. He didn’t bother even lighting his wand as he made his way to the room opposite the landing at the top of the stairs.

Voldemort’s room was sparse, containing nothing but a bed, wardrobe, and a single book on the bedside table. It reflected a man who lived out of his office and only used his room for sleeping, which was fitting for the man Harry knew Voldemort to be. Figuring Voldemort’s room was the best place travel from – really, he was nearly sure that no Death Eater had ever set foot in it – he quickly did the maths and began spinning the dial back.

He removed the Time-Turner and turned to place it on Voldemort’s bedside table atop his book, but he quickly found himself hitting his knees with a snarl of pain and rage as the agony of the Cruciatus enveloped him. Harry forced his eyes open, nearly able to feel his pupils constrict with his anger, to pin the caster in place.

It was fascinating to see true surprise on Voldemort’s face, even if only for a few moments. Whether it was Harry’s sudden appearance or actually having managed to hit him for the first time with one of his curses, Voldemort’s eyes had widened and he went stock still for several seconds before he slashed his wand outward to cancel the curse. “Potter, what in the hell were you thinking, popping in like that? And is that—give me that.”

The Time-Turner was taken from his hands before Harry could even properly understand the situation and Voldemort spun to place it beside the bed. “What?”

While Harry couldn’t see his face, he imagined Voldemort had rolled his eyes by the tone of his voice. “You didn’t bother to cast any sort of concealment on yourself before using my Time-Turner, and you did it in a place and at a time when you would manage to pop in right in front of me. Idiot.”

He couldn’t even find it in himself to bristle; he could at least to himself admit Voldemort was right. Though the self-recrimination reminded him just who had told him where to travel and when to travel to. Harry rolled his eyes. “For the record, you’re a prick.”

Harry really took in the sight of the Dark Lord for the first time since arriving back in time several hours, eyes flicking down and trailing up without his explicit permission. He’d never seen Voldemort in less than full regalia: ornate, flowing robes and usually a cloak as well. But here he was in nothing but trousers and his shirtsleeves, cuffs undone and rolled up, top buttons at his collar left open. Harry was fascinated to see that the rough, scale-like patches he’d noted on the man’s neck appeared to stretch down to his shoulders as well as being visible along his antebrachium. Harry realized he was staring only as he paused there and watched the muscles of Voldemort’s forearms shift.

“I assume tonight was successful?”

Harry met crimson eyes and read a surprising wariness there, Voldemort’s hooded eyes not able to project the blank passivity that Harry thought he was going for. He couldn’t help the too-fond smile that crossed his lips at the idea of Voldemort worrying after Harry’s reaction to their night’s task, though he banished it away quickly. “Very. We just ended up getting done later than expected, and I don’t need to look exhausted come morning when their deaths are reported.” Voldemort was watching him intently, eyes narrow and scanning him. For what?  Damage? Anger? Harry forced down another smile, yawning and stretching as he recalled his plans to feed and sleep. “I won’t keep you. I’ll be here in a couple of hours, but I should be going so I can rest.”

“And just where do you plan to go?” Voldemort said with a wry, expectant look. “As you said, you will not arrive here for hours yet. Will you risk crossing your own path or another’s at Hogwarts?”

Harry frowned, realizing the quandary the Dark Lord had left him in by sending him back so early. His nose wrinkled in annoyance at Voldemort, though he was more annoyed at himself for obeying without thought. Did he trust the man so easily now?

Before he could complain, Voldemort was summoning a robe, pulling it on, and striding towards the door. “Set an alarm for yourself. And do not snoop, Potter.” The door swung shut behind him, leaving Harry dumbfounded and alone in the spartan, dark room. It took him an embarrassingly long few moments to realize what Voldemort was implying – what he was offering. Harry’s eyes flicked from the bed to the door, incredulous and strangely apprehensive. Something in his chest squeezed and his stomach tightened, and Harry was left perplexed by both his partner and his own physiological reaction.

He crept towards the bed with that odd trepidation lingering, hardly able to believe he was contemplating sleeping in Voldemort’s bed. But then, he’d seen the state of all unused rooms in the manor. Time had been allowed to destroy nearly everything, especially on the residential upper floor where the leaks had been plentiful. It would take Harry long minutes of cleaning charms, repairing, transfiguring, and otherwise making a room habitable to sleep elsewhere, whereas he had been offered what looked to be a perfectly serviceable bed to use without any effort at all.

He sat slowly, half sure some ward on the bed would activate and send him into convulsions, but instead found himself sinking into a sinfully luxurious mattress that was leagues above anything he’d ever slept on, even in Valerian’s citadel. He groaned and fell backwards, the plush duvet swallowing him. He was so tired; he’d hardly slept all week in his quest to research, surveil, and plan all possible contingencies for their big Halloween reveal. The Wizarding world would not be able to ignore that there was a second Dark Lord any longer, no matter how incurious and intractable they were.

Harry scooted himself around until his head hit the pillows, a flicked spell sending his robes and boots to the foot of the bed messily. He could feel sleep stealing over him already, heaviness taking over his eyes and limbs. He felt more relaxed than he’d been in months, he realized as he buried his head into one of Voldemort’s pillows, inhaling deeply of the scent there. He barely managed to set an alarm spell before he drifted off, familiar magic he had grown so fond of enveloping him.

Harry left the Gryffindor common room early Sunday morning, feeling rested and ready for the busy week ahead. Part of him was incredulous that he had slept several hours in Voldemort’s bed – he’d actually managed to linger so long that he’d nearly run into himself going upstairs to use the Time-Turner – and had woken more rested than he thought he’d been since he’d traveled back into the past from his proper timeline. But he shoved that into the back of his mind now, intent on getting his tasks for the day done early so that he was not set back by playing his part once Dumbledore informed him of his family’s demise.

His first stop was Dante’s rooms. He had to be careful when traversing the corridor that held many of the staff’s rooms, as students were forbidden from that wing of the castle. Thankfully, the most complex restriction was a modified age ward that subtly turned away any underage without an emergency driving them there, so it did nothing to stop Harry as he crept under his invisibility cloak towards his goal.

“Mylläkkä.”

Harry smiled and slid around the elder vampire, plopping into a chair before the fire. “Well, I have updates.”

He told Dante of the night before, of Snape’s binding and the deaths of his muggle relatives. Vindictive pleasure lit Dante’s eyes at that. “I am pleased. Your Lord Voldemort has my thanks.”

“Don’t call him mine, that’s creepy.”

Dante gave the barest hint of a smile, something deeply amused in his expression that made Harry’s gut twist. “As you say. Regardless, are you pleased as well?”

“I… am. I didn’t really realize I needed the release of being rid of them. I’m grateful Tom more or less forced me into it.”

“Well, if you gave your permission to him after using the Time-Turner, he knew you would accept it.”

Harry paused and snorted. “You’re right. I wasn’t holding a grudge, but I admit that it had irked me. I know I am much less experienced than he is, that he likely only originally took me on as his so-called equal in order to use Harry Potter as a trophy… but I like to think we’re beyond that now. But sometimes he reminds me of just what a selfish berk he is and makes me feel like he sees me as a child still. I dislike when he treats me as a follower rather than as the partner I am meant to be. I find it makes me glad to realize he was only obstinate in the face of knowing I’d be pleased by the end of the night.”

The amusement was still there in Dante’s expression, his eyes dancing.  “I will never be able to forget how young you are, Mylläkkä, with the ways that such simple interactions perplex you. But worry not: from all you have told me, I believe you and your Lord Voldemort are on the right track to making your… partnership work.”

Something in the vampire’s tone made Harry narrow his eyes, but he couldn’t find the right words to question him. Instead, he glared on principle, fingers tapping against the armrest of his chair. After a moment, he looked away and refused to categorize his mood as petulant. "You know I hate doing nothing useful. Do you have time for us to work on the warding spell?"

“Since you have secured Snape, I assume you shall be gathering the chosen to you soon.”

They did not make as much progress as Harry would have liked, though he felt they were close to a breakthrough on the spell they were trying to modify to his needs. They'd started with an older variation of the Fidelius and were trying to combine it with a secrecy spell; so far they just needed to find a way to bind it to information passed in the space rather than the location of the place itself. If they had more time to devote it would have been done ages ago, but Harry could not risk being missing more often than he already was.

He made his way towards the Great Hall for breakfast, a quick Tempus telling him that the other Gryffindors were likely to begin dragging themselves in that direction soon. He ducked behind a tapestry into a hidden passage that snaked around the southern wall of the castle, stepping out into a dewy courtyard that led to a hall just off the main doors of the castle.

Despite the cool morning, the courtyard was occupied. Harry paused in the archway, head tilting. He saw Neville first, sitting on a stone bench with a rickety, transfigured table sprawled at a good height in front of him, a dozen of leaf-bound bundles stacked to one side. The rest of the table was covered in mounds of herbs that Neville appeared to be systematically sorting and grinding with a mortar and pestle.

It was only after he looked at the herbs that he noticed the other person in the courtyard. Luna was sprawled under the table, lying on her back with a book lifted above her head. She wore a spring green sundress and red wellies regardless of the chill, feet bobbing to and fro like she was dancing horizontally to a tune. Neville’s voice was pleasant and constant, explaining the properties of the herbs he was working with. Both seemed content with the arrangement.

Harry wondered if now was the time to try to speak to Luna. He hadn’t forgotten her words from the week before in Dante’s classroom, the way she’d seemed to know far more than she should. He hesitated, though; now may not be the optimal time for such a conversation.

“This is not the best place to stand, Mister Potter.” Harry jolted, embarrassed to have been snuck up on. He spun and met Professor McGonagall’s eyes as she peered over her spectacles, glancing over him. “Well?”

He shuffled to the side. “Sorry, Professor.”

She gave a small smile, awkward as her expressions of fondness often were. “No matter, Mister Potter. Just be more aware of your surroundings.”

He nodded and looked back to see Neville waving him over with a greeting. He approached and noted that Luna’s book appeared to be a muggle romance novel, though she appeared to be reading it backward if the way she was flipping the pages told him anything. “Morning Neville, Luna. What are you up to?”

Neville grinned and pointed to the small wrapped bundles beside him. “Apparently Professor Sprout’s stories about my help impressed Madame Pomfrey so much that she’s asked me to help with some bruise paste bases and cooling poultices.” It was easy to see how thrilled he was at the responsibility, the recognition. While he should not be allowed near a cauldron without supervision, it was more due to the pressure and timing of the brews. Neville had proven quite adept at the preparation of ingredients, which had been Harry’s weak point for many years.

“That’s really great, Neville. I’m glad more people are recognizing your talent.” The younger boy blushed and ducked his head, though his smile stayed wide. Harry flicked his eyes down to see Luna watching him unblinkingly, oddly protuberant eyes more clear than usual. “Hey, Luna? You have a minute?”

Her response was delayed for an awkward moment, but everything about her tone and expression were perfectly pleasant. “Of course.”

She followed him with her arms linked behind her back, humming discordantly as they moved a few feet away. He moved to cast a secrecy ward around them, but she shook her head. “No need for that, Harry-who-isn’t-quite-Harry. You don’t need to worry about me and you have enough things on your plate. I’ll keep, and I wouldn’t tell anyone anything anyway.”

It didn’t feel like enough. In fact, it felt supremely naïve to leave it at that and walk away. “Luna—”

She shook her head again, this time more emphatically, and reached up to touch a finger to her wand; today it was being used to keep her hair up. “I swear on my magic that none of Harry Potter’s secrets will be told to any that wouldn’t follow him. So mote it be,” she said in a clear tone, much less vague-sounding than usual. But immediately after, her face took on its usual dreamy cast. “Will that do for now, my lord? I think you have things to do.”

He stood in mild shock for a long moment before he let out a huffing breath, pinching the bridge of his nose beneath his glasses. “Yeah, yeah I suppose it’ll have to be. But you’re gonna have to tell me something soon.”

She hummed and skipped away, somersaulting back under the table to lie with her head propped on one of Neville’s sneakers. Harry stared for a long moment before forcing himself to walk away, at least ten times more confused than he had been to begin with. But what could he do, really, for the moment?  He’d make her tell him more later, though – she obviously knew more than he’d ever thought she did, and for all that he didn’t think she’d use it against him, he refused to be caught out blind.

Harry knew it was dangerous to open his mokeskin pouch in the Great Hall, even if few people were yet in attendance. Only McGonagall, Hagrid, and Vector were at the staff table, and at his own house table barely a handful of half-asleep students sat picking at their breakfasts. Even so, he thought as he reached in and stroked his fingers over the locket, it was a risky move to access the pouch and weaken the protections against others noticing the magic it contained. But as the anticipation built in his gut about the day to come, the _days_ to come, he found himself in need of an anchor. Things had moved so slowly to this point, but soon everything was going to begin to progress faster and faster, like a stone rolling downhill.

The prologue of his performance was nearly completed. Now the true act would begin.

He hadn’t had a real conversation with Dumbledore outside his 'lessons' since he had come back in time. While he knew without a doubt that if he was to be found out early, it would be Hermione to do it… Dumbledore was the one most likely to see any small deviation as a reason to poke his crooked nose into Harry’s life more deeply. He wouldn’t suspect the truth, not without massive proof, but he’d see any inconsistencies as meaning Harry needed to be led back to the path Dumbledore had laid for him. In their lessons, Dumbledore was lecturing and Harry was only expected to listen and absorb. But for something like the meeting to come, he needed to be on his guard, his foremost thoughts innocuous, and his character as obliviously Gryffindor as possible. He couldn’t afford for Dumbledore to have any reason to pay more attention to him, not when the first articles were to be published in the coming weeks, not with Halloween only days away, not with their planned raids stepping up now that Mylläkkä was to be known to the public at large. Though most of their plans were for after Yule, the days to come would be the stepping stones to lead them to the waterfall over which they planned to leap.

One hand within his pouch and his fingers around the purring locket, Harry nibbled at a small bowl of oatmeal just to have something to do. He eyed a group of firsties down at the end of the table, eyes round as they peeked at him while whispering amongst themselves. Harry wondered what they were saying; was he currently a hero or a leper? He didn’t care enough to find out.

Ravenclaw was the fullest of the student tables, the coming winter exams getting them out of bed early even on a Sunday, though Hufflepuff was a close second with a surprising number of older students clustered at the end near the Great Hall doors. At his own table, there were barely a smattering of students over third year, with only Parvati Patil also present from his year. She looked irritated, face pinched in a scowl as she sipped a cup of tea. Harry ignored the Hall at large and pushed away his food, swiping an abandoned Daily Prophet to skim as he tried to kill time.

He was considering going to the library when a rather overweight, plain barn owl swept in through the window, an irritated screech leaving its beak as it landed on the Gryffindor table. Parvati’s irritated expression didn’t diminish; he could hear her curse under her breath as she fought to remove the letter from the owl’s leg. Harry was just reluctantly closing his pouch in preparation to leave as a gasp left her lips, the letter dropping right onto her half-finished plate.

Harry paused. “Parvati? You all right?”

She didn’t answer, her dark skin gone ashy, eyes wide and pupils contracted into pinpricks. Harry braced himself to stand, as it was not Golden Boy to ignore a housemate in obvious need, but her head whipped in his direction with a panicked expression as she rushed to grab the letter and stuff it into a robe pocket, tears in her eyes. “Nothing,” she choked out. She was up and running for the Great Hall doors before Harry could even process that she was moving.

He sat frozen for a long moment before standing and making his way to the library as he’d planned, brief curiosity passing through him and dying. He needed a distraction to make time pass more quickly, so he thought he’d check out the Restricted section for a few books Voldemort had mentioned finding there in his school days.

For all that he felt like he’d been doing nothing the last weeks, he had to remember that he was not, in fact, standing still. He was lying in wait, planning and preparing… and soon the curtain would rise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter we get a brief interlude to get other character POVs, then the real slide into plot happens rather than all this exhaustive setup. Sorry if it's been tedious, but I couldn't bring myself to cut much when everything had a reason for it. :P
> 
> But within a few days I'll have the interlude up with a nice, new Voldie POV that will give us some indications of his feelings on how things are going as well as some more horcrux bizniss. ♥ Then comes Halloween and the explosion of everything beginning in view of the WW, leading to Yule when-- well. We'll get there. :D
> 
> Thank you as always for all the kind comments and kudos! You keep me writing, as ever.


	12. Interlude: Heteroglossia // presence of multiple voices to express different viewpoints

Hermione sighed from behind her Arithmancy text, brown eyes flicking over Harry as he ate. He had been acting strangely since summer had ended – introverted and quiet, polite and calm almost beyond normalcy. She was confused by the changes to the boy she considered to be her best friend, closer to her than Ron, a brother in all but blood. The year before they had been concerned that he would lose his sanity with all the stress that the war was putting on his shoulders having been compounded by Sirus’s death, but he had come back from his relatives’ house with soft smiles, bored fugues, a sudden drive to succeed, and glimpses of wisdom she’d never seen in him before. It was like he was suddenly an adult in a way the rest of them could only dream of being.

She loved Harry as she loved her family, she always had. It wasn't his fame or his money that kept her by his side, it was the simple – if sad -- fact that he had been her first real friend. In primary school, she had been shunned for loving her books more than playing tag, for holding knowledge above the silly games her contemporaries had been interested in. No one wanted to be friends with the bushy-haired bookworm – it would have ruined their chances of making other friends. Not that she had minded, really.

When her Hogwarts letter had come, both she and her parents had thought it to be a hoax. After all, magic? Really, now. There was no basis in science for the ability to pull rabbits out of hats without sleight of hand, no proof of any real miracles. Her family was pragmatic if nothing else, and magic just didn't fit in with logic. But then Professor McGonagall had shown up on her doorstep, a properly intelligent woman who could prove the existence of magic. Hermione had been in awe of the sheer brilliance and poise the woman possessed, totally enamored with the explanations of magical theory she presented. So then, magic did exist… and Hermione would be able to perform it. Her mind had spun at the possibilities.

The beginning of her first year had dampened her fervor. Though she had been thrilled beyond expression at the sheer breadth of new areas of study, books to read, and spells to memorize, she had noticed that Hogwarts was almost just like the other schools she had attended. Children laughed and pointed at her, mocking her enthusiasm for learning, poking fun at her pronounced teeth and frizzy hair. She had hoped that magical children might be more intelligent or at least aloof enough not to stoop down to a bully's level, and the realization that they were just like all the other children had saddened her terribly.

But then Harry had stormed into her life. He had never actively teased her like the others, no matter that he just sat back and let Ron say horrible things to her in the beginning. Despite knowing he’d win no favors for it, he’d run to her rescue that Halloween night, his small stature overshadowed by the extent of his courage and heart. Hermione had developed quite the crush on Harry that day. Ron had only 'put up with her' because Harry had seemed to like her, so she couldn't have honestly called him her friend until the end of the year at the soonest.

Her little crush had quickly warmed into a secure friendship, and Hermione couldn't help but be devoted to Harry even today. He had given her the acceptance she had hardly even realized she had craved, shown her what it was like for someone to care for her for who she was without pretense. He had accepted her bossiness with bare complaints and never looked down on her for her devotion to learning and knowledge, even when he was bemused by it.

Now, as she snuck looks at her best friend over her textbook, her heart clenched to see the once-vibrant boy half asleep over his lunch with a brooding look on his face. He had been exceptionally quiet all week; though Hermione had originally put it down to the approach of Halloween, she wasn't so sure now.

Harry was darker than before. Or perhaps she should say Darker, loathe though she was to put such a label on him. She could see past the polite and smiling façade he put up for the rest of them, she could see behind the seemingly attentive gazes and reassuring smiles. She played along with his little act, letting him continue to hide… but she saw the looks that flickered over his face at times, the way he tensed up involuntarily when people got too close to him. He had always been a bit touch-shy and skittish, and his maturity had always been greater than that of the others in their class, but it was different now. It was no longer a shy or unsure air he held— it was a cautious and violent one. And it scared her, if she was being honest.

So she watched him, filing away all she learned in hopes of understanding this man who seemed to have taken her Harry's place, treading guardedly as she tried to put together the puzzle he had become. For while he was still obviously Harry and she still considered him to be her best friend, Hermione Jean Granger never let a puzzle go unsolved.

She watched as Harry clapped a hand over his mouth to cover a yawn, green eyes watering. She was worried at how exhausted he seemed lately. It reminded her too vividly of the year before when he was plagued by visions on a nightly basis, forced to watch the torture and death of countless people. She sometimes nearly hoped this was why he acted so strangely this year, though, because it would relieve many of her worries. She knew it was wrong to _hope_ for something like that, but in comparison to some of the other things her overactive mind had worked up, it was preferable.

“Harry?” she ventured quietly, finally letting her book lower and meeting bespectacled eyes. “Are you all right? You look exhausted. Have— have you been getting visions again?” she asked in a whisper, gaze darting around to make sure they didn't have eavesdroppers. She needn't have worried; meals in the Great Hall was always a loud event.

Harry smiled softly to her, a genuine smile that took a weight from her shoulders; smiles like that had become more and more rare. “No, I just haven't been sleeping well, is all. I've… been thinking of a lot of things.”

“Sirius?”

She saw the way his smile suddenly became strained and her heart broke just a bit. “Amongst other things,” he answered slowly, eyes shifting away from hers.

“Are you sure you're okay, Harry? I mean… you've been so distant this term. You know I worry—”

Harry waved a hand, cutting her off. “I'm fine, Hermione, honestly. I'll get through this just like everything else. Besides, we have to be on guard. Halloween is this Thursday.”

The witch stiffened and began poking her breakfast a bit harder, her eyes turned away from Harry's. “So something will happen this year?” She hated thinking about it. She hated knowing that again something terrible would happen on that accursed day. Despite the fact that the first Halloween in Hogwarts had brought her acceptance, she didn't relish in a repeat… and every year just seemed to get worse.

“Something _always_ happens on Halloween, Hermione,” Ron cut in, rubbing his newly filled stomach with a content expression.

Hermione watched as Harry's eyes glazed over and sighed. Ron was right, of course, but he didn't have to be so callous about it.

She frowned at him. “Ronald, that was uncalled for.”

“Huh?” he asked with several rapid blinks. “It's true, innit?”

“Well… yes, but that was an awfully rude way of putting it.” She glanced over and took in Harry's far-off gaze. He seemed to be entranced with his hands and didn't appear to hear a word they were saying. “Anyway, we'll deal with it when it comes.”

Ron set his jaw and narrowed his dark blue eyes. Hermione couldn't help the slight speeding of her pulse at the uncommonly serious look. “We should be planning for it instead of just waiting for whatever happens. What if it's worse this year?”

“You're proposing we work?”

 “This is strategy, not work,” Ron scoffed.

“How can we plan a strategy when we have no idea what form the attack will take?”

“Uhh… well— we'll figure out something? Yeah!” Ron nodded emphatically, a grin spreading over his face. “We can think up things tonight, make a list, then try and plan what we’d do—“

Hermione took in the fidgeting and sudden enthusiasm. “Are you trying to get out of homework using Halloween as an excuse, Ronald?!”

Harry stood, breaking their argument. “Don't worry about it; we'll get through this like we have every year, guys. We have that DADA essay to finish, guys, for first thing tomorrow.” He rolled his shoulders and shouldered his bag. “You know the professor won’t let us turn it in late.”

“Oi, seriously, that Pierce is a real arse.”

“Ronald! Don't disrespect our teachers! I swear you get ruder and ruder every year. What has Professor Pierce ever done to you? He's an entirely fair teacher and is terribly intelligent. He doesn’t favor any house and, best of all, he doesn’t seem to be out for Harry. What more can we hope for?“ Hermione jumped in immediately.

“I dunno, but he reminds me of a Malfoy. He's always all dreary and snooty; I hate bastards like that. And there's just something off about him. Gives me the creeps.”

Hermione sighed and glared at the boy as they exited the Great Hall. “You're being silly, Ron. Professor Pierce is a wonderful instructor, we should feel lucky to have such a competent teacher after last year's debacle. And he’s nothing like Malfoy, he’s just refined, is all—“

“Don't tell me you've got a crush on _this_ Defense teacher too?!”

“Ronald Bilius Weasley!”

Harry laughed sincerely from where he walked in front of them, and Hermione tried to fight the smile that threatened to break her attempt at an intimidating scowl. Perhaps this 'new' Harry wasn't so different after all.

Severus Snape watched as the Golden Trio exited the hall, black eyes narrowing at the casual gait of one Harry Potter, the bane of his existence.

One hand subconsciously twitched towards where he could still feel the cold metal of the band binding him, icy against his skin even after all these hours. He resisted the urge to clutch at it; it wouldn’t do to call attention to the placement of a Dark Mark. It was more difficult, in morning’s light, to come to terms with Potter’s allegiances. While he looked as he did currently, a scrawny, veritable clone of his father, Severus had to consciously remind himself that that boy was the one he’d watched stand at the Dark Lord’s side, had been the one to look so blasé about the imminent torture and murder of his last living family.

The night before had been enlightening if nothing else. He’d not suddenly be one of Potter’s vapid admirers, but he could admit at least to himself (and, as it were, the Dark Lord) that he had been wrong about the way Potter had been raised. That he’d been left with _Petunia_ —he should have realized years ago, really. Once it was known that he had stayed with muggle family, Severus should have known who that meant. But he’d foolishly thought that no one in their right mind would ever voluntarily put anything magical near a harpy like her, had ignored how low he knew the headmaster had been willing to sink in the past. But faced with seeing the way they had spat disgusted epithets at the boy, the way Potter had rolled his eyes unconcerned… well. That it had pinched something inside him, woken the ghost of his own childhood for even a moment was a secret he would take to his grave.

However, the boy was still Potter. Severus was not going to realize he had been wrong all these years and become the boy's friend. Severus scoffed at himself for the mere thought. Regardless of his home life, the boy still strolled around the castle like he owned it, ignoring all the rules and getting preferential treatment because of a task he had done at a year old without effort. It sickened Severus to see previously dignified wizards and witches tripping over themselves to answer his beck and call.

And yet, he could admit to the beginnings of a grudging respect for how Potter had turned out despite his upbringing. He looked at himself for an example of what became of those raised in households full of violence and disdain and was amazed that the boy could still act so… normal after being raised that way. Severus himself had only become more and more withdrawn as the years went by, and even after his own father was killed he had continued on the decline. Lily had been the only light in his life, but he had eventually drawn away from even her on his quest to never, ever be seen as weak again.

The Dark Sect had been a release for Severus. He’d taken the mark to further himself, wanting more than a desk job in the Ministry could ever give. He was the youngest Potions Master since Salazar Slytherin himself – he had wanted to do something that showed the world his power, his intellect. Perhaps his life would have been different had the Dark Lord's priorities not become obscured. Perhaps, had he remained on his journey to change the Wizarding world, Severus would have the esteem he craved.

However, somewhere in the late seventies the Dark Lord had become more interested in violently eradicating muggles than changing the Wizarding world. The Dark Sect as a whole began making this their priority, as if a handful of magic-users could really wipe out several _billion_ non-magical humans around the world. It was an impossibility, especially with the way the muggles were advancing in technology. They would have been wiped out themselves. He hadn’t faltered, though, until the Dark Lord’s madness had led to him starting a crusade against a mere baby on half a prophecy. Even before he’d known it was Lily, he’d been wary. And once she’d been killed? He had been more than done with the Dark no matter what his blood called for.

(A part of him recalled Potter’s stunned face the night before, revealing that the Dark Lord had tried to spare Lily for him after all even in his madness. He shivered.)

But here he was once again becoming embroiled in the Dark Sect, all due to the influence of one horrid boy. Harry Potter commanded more power than even the Dark Lord or Dumbledore did, though he lacked greatly in the experience the two elder wizards had. The way his magic had filled the room had made Severus want to fall to his knees. Severus felt a chill as he imagined what the boy would be able to do with time and training. Was his upbringing enough to send him crashing after the Dark Lord on his plan for world domination, or was Potter going to be the one to bring them back on track?

Severus didn't know, but he was sure of one thing.

The Light didn't have a chance.

Ron wasn't an idiot.

Now, many would probably disagree, and – okay – so he wasn’t _school-smart_. He was brash and headstrong, stubborn as a Hippogriff with a temper to rival one: a Gryffindor through and through. He was impatient and often surly, hated spending time outside of the classroom on work, and was much better suited to a professional career in Quidditch than in the Ministry like his father. However, no matter what anyone else might think, Ronald Weasley knew he was not an idiot.

Despite how often he made dumb choices or stuffed his foot in his mouth, he was ace at strategy. At first he’d found chess and quickly learned to wallop nearly every opponent he faced, but he’d figured out how to apply that to life pretty quickly. He could imagine every move on a battlefield as pieces to play, see the best steps to take to ensure victory. However, his own personality was often his worst enemy in these situations, as he tended to act before allowing the possibilities to sink in.

The older he got, however, the more quickly the paths he could take opened to him. Nearly every situation now – from a conversation with Harry and Hermione, to a game of Quidditch, to the battle at the Department of Mysteries – showed him infinite steps he _could_ take and where they would lead him. He still, of course, made wrong moves. Life was _not_ chess and the possible moves were unlimited, so he screwed up pretty often. He was getting better all the time, though.

Feelings an such confused him, like he was pretty sure they did most blokes. He didn't understand why girls cried for no reason or what the expressions that flashed through people's eyes meant. He understood liking people well enough, friendly-wise and more-than-friendly-wise. But he didn't have a clue _why_ he or others felt things… and he really wasn't all that interested in finding out.

He understood some of the simpler emotions well, too. He understood anger; after all, that bloody prat Malfoy pissed him off simply by existing on a daily basis. He understood fear; and no, he wasn't just referring to spiders, though who could honestly like the creepy little things? They were disgusting and hairy with their beady little eyes and gave him the chills just thinking of them— but he was getting off topic. He understood fear because he had been raised on fear. Fear of the different, fear of Voldemort, fear of the Dark side, fear of failure, fear of being left behind. Fear had been a fundamental part of him all his life.

And he understood jealousy. Oh, how he understood jealousy. He had befriended Harry Potter on the train at Hogwarts because he was _Harry bloody Potter,_ for Merlin's sake. Who wouldn't want to befriend him? To know your best friend was one of the most known figures in the Wizarding world? Ron had been in near ecstasy just by the thought of it. In the months and years to follow, though, he had second guessed his decision. It was hard living in Harry's shadow. Many times he had nearly wished he’d never met Harry at all, that he could have had a chance to be great and not just 'Harry's friend'.

His feelings had culminated in the Triwizard tournament his fourth year. Again Harry Potter had gotten away with something no one else could, and again Ron had gotten left behind. It had infuriated him so much. It had been this that had led him to shun his friend and be an overall prat.

But then reality had washed over him.

Being Harry Potter was not as easy as it looked.

He had never thought that maybe fame wouldn't be fun. He hadn’t considered that it had come at the cost of Harry’s family. He had never even imagined that Harry wouldn't like the attention that he received, or that being the center of everything just meant you were the center for all the _bad_ things, too.

But he knew now. If the Triwizard Tournament hadn't taught him that, the Department of Mysteries certainly had. Being a hero meant the expectations of the world on your shoulders, it meant risking your life in the name of people who would one minute think you were greater than Merlin and the next despise you for doing just what they’d wanted. Ron definitely no longer wished he was Harry Potter.

So while there might be a lot of things Ron didn’t understand or notice… he did notice things others might miss because of his unique perspective. And it was because of this that he knew something big was coming. He didn't know what, but he could _feel_ the shift in the atmosphere, the innate knowledge that something life-changing was approaching. And Ron would be prepared. He would not allow others to have all the prestige this time, and he would not make Harry fight what was coming alone. Because Harry was his best friend, honestly and truly, beyond the petty emotions of his younger years. Harry was his best friend and that was what mattered.

They turned to walk towards the library, but Harry halting in front of him brought him back to the present. Dumbledore stood at the next intersection, standing alone and quiet as if he was found in odd, empty corridors all the time. He looked up as they approached, shockingly untwinkling eyes fixing on Harry. “Harry, my boy, I need you to come with me.”

Somehow, Ron thought things were about to take a bad turn. But that didn't matter.

He would stay with Harry through thick or thin.

Well… he thought so, anyway.

Voldemort heaved a sigh as the timed spell wore off. He had barely had enough sleep to function, but with Potter having left at half five and with a meeting to attend at noon, he had only had time for a short nap.

He rolled over onto his stomach and groaned into his pillow; his mood was already soured and it was barely lunchtime. He should have used the Time-Turner himself – and damn his inability to modify the stipulation on the device that disallowed more than two of it to exist at any given moment – rather than being such a weak fool as to let Potter. Surely the boy could have simply slept the day away; it was a Sunday and he was supposedly a sixteen year old. No matter that he’d known he’d lent it due to seeing Potter earlier in the evening, he couldn’t excuse himself with that. He had found himself offering the brat the use of his device without a single thought, knowing he’d already lent the boy his Merlin-be-damned _bed_ for the evening. What was wrong with him?  
  
He breathed in and found that his linens even smelt of Potter now. He was on his feet and irritably disrobing before he’d made a decision.  
  
The scalding hot water pouring over him made at least a modicum of the tension melt away. He had better things to do than think about Potter. Once he was dry and dressed, he strode down the stairs with determination. He had much to do in the coming weeks to ensure all would be well while he was away. He had planned to make the journey in the warmer months originally, but the recent discovery of the fate of his diary, of what Potter was had sent a frenzy through him. He _needed_ to check them all, and for that matter he _needed_ to begin to fix his mistake. He twisted the Gaunt ring that could not be seen on his finger, recalling the shock he had felt when Potter’s touch had transformed part of him more easily than he’d managed for even a split second in the last months. He’d known since he had recovered the ring that he had lost much without ever realizing it, but in the moments when Potter was touching him, he was reminded all the more strongly as his body was set alight. Magic had rushed through him like it had not for decades, his breath going short and his body quivering.

The wonder and terror shot through him again.  _A human horcrux_. Nagini had been farther than any had dared to go before, but with her bond to him she already shared his lifespan. But Voldemort had accidently achieved even more: he had turned a mortal, breakable, fallible human – the boy who had been his prophesized vanquisher – into one of the containers for his soul. He could only count himself lucky that the boy was somewhat less than human now, immortal if he wound up Changing like he planned to, and no longer so weak as he had been. Darker, older, more world-weary, but sharpened as well. Was this why he gravitated to him so easily? Why he had trouble _not_ following the boy with his eyes when they were in the same room? It had been bad enough when he was actually a child, but now! Now he could hardly note others when Potter was near.

How had Voldemort not seen it before? He’d possessed the boy, for Salazar’s sake! Had his mind been so diminished before he’d received that letter, before he’d gone to protect his ring from Dumbledore’s greed, that he’d missed a piece of his own soul in Potter? He shuddered to imagine what could have happened, had he continued on his intended path.

But thankfully, he had not. And even more thankfully, Potter had offered himself up with a truce before he could even formulate a new plan to off him, keeping him from making what would have been one of his biggest mistakes. Already he feared the loss of his first horcrux – the largest, the youngest of his soul pieces – had destabilized him to a dangerous degree. Losing even one more could have been the tipping point beyond return. But if he fixed this, if he brought them near to him like the ring or pieced himself back together—

The look on Potter’s face as he’d stared at their joined hand jolted through him, the way those glowing eyes had darted to him and held him frozen in place. He’d wanted to crush the hand that caused electricity to run through his veins and yank the boy towards him over his desk, bring him nearer, see if the sensation would rage higher the more Potter touched him.

And here he was thinking about Potter again. Voldemort scoffed in self-disgust, pulling out his wand and rolling it between his fingers. Something had to be wrong with him, that he found Harry bloody Potter on his mind day after day without fail. Hardly an hour went by, it seemed, that he was not thinking of the brat: plans they had made, things he might do, things he had done. He hadn’t bothered considering another human being for decades, if he ever had at all. What was _wrong_ with him?

He had several Potterless days ahead of him, thankfully, so he forced himself to put the boy out of his mind for the time being.

That it was so difficult left a heavy feeling in his gut.

Narrowed hazel eyes watched as Harry Potter was led to the headmaster's office, a derisive sneer occasionally overtaking the young man’s face while he trailed Dumbledore’s meandering form. They had been watching Potter carefully for months now. It had started as their usual task – being aware of and ready to undermine anything that the Light may come up with – but had quickly devolved after that. They had watched Potter sneak off the school grounds again and again, watched him sneer and glare at those he’d once been fond of, seen true rage light his features every so often (most especially when he had been called away by Dumbledore).

They were sure by now, though they had no way to confirm it, that the young man was deeply involved in Dark affairs. So many years of experience as one of the Dark Lord’s most prized assets lent one’s self to knowing such things by instinct. They had been placed within the maelstrom itself due to their ability to read the underneath and subtly pick apart the seams; Hogwarts far outranked the Ministry on the rank of where everything happened, so long as Dumbledore lived and led there.

Unfortunately, this meant very limited communication with their Lord. Since he had returned to life, they had only been able to see him twice. Their job was to watch for anything dire and try to pull the legs out from under it, but they were to keep hidden at all costs. Snape was a spy, his purpose to gather information and relay it back, but they were a mole, an infiltrator, tasked with the subtle dismantling of the Light's goals and plans, the surreptitious seeds of doubt planted in even the most loyal of its followers.

But the boy was obviously just as involved in the Dark as they were. He reeked of tainted power so strong that it was a wonder Dumbledore hadn't caught on. Then again, the headmaster tended to see what he wanted to see. He would never look to his perfect weapon and think it was getting away from him. He always called the Dark Lord his greatest mistake… but though they wished they could see the old man’s face when he realized he’d lost Harry Potter, they were nearly sure Dumbledore wouldn’t live to see it.

The person watching over Potter smirked grimly, adjusting their robes as they made to leave their hiding place. Soon the act could drop. A new day was dawning… they could _taste_ it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh, I keep making more work for myself. As I go, I keep going, "Heyyyy, why didn't I write _that_ scene the first time?" and then I wind up writing 2.5k overpowered super!Voldie being hot (next chapter!)... *sigh*
> 
> At this point, I'm likely to end up extending an already too-long fic half again. :P I already know my /40 is now wrong, as I'm betting it'll be closer to 45 or 50. SOMEONE STOP ME.
> 
> Current added word count: 24,472


	13. Mamihlapinatapei // Yagan: Meaningful look shared by two people who both desire to initiate something but are both reluctant to start

“Would you like some tea, my boy?” Dumbledore asked as he swept around his desk, stopping to flick a golden set of concentric circles that spun on a shelf. Harry resisted the urge to sneer, since the portraits would see him even if Dumbledore could not. Harry had been led on a winding path through the castle for no good reason he could see, with Dumbledore stopping to chat with a mermaid in a painting and then an odd bas relief of a knight fighting some sort of ogre with wings. He hadn’t been able to understand the Mermish conversation, of course, but all Dumbledore had talked about with the Knight had been about a ring the knight had apparently lost. His pace had been more suited to a Sunday stroll, and as Harry supposedly had no idea why he was being called he could only rage in silence.

“Sir? Is this another meeting about Voldemort?”

Dumbledore was frowning as he sat, one hand stroking his beard from chin to tip. “No, my boy— or at least not in the way our lessons are. I’m afraid I have some bad news to impart.”

Harry straightened his back and widened his eyes, focusing on panic and pulling thoughts of all the catastrophes that had befallen Hogwarts on Halloweens past to the front of his mind. “Headmaster? Has something happened?  Please, nobody’s been hurt, have they?”

It was a bit strange to see Dumbledore looking so much his age. The lines on his face were deepened with his honestly saddened expression, his posture lax. A pang Harry ignored tugged at his heart; once upon a time, he had thought of this man like family. And even now, knowing he plotted to ruin his reputation and rid the Wizarding world of him, Harry couldn’t bring himself to hate him. Not even knowing all he’d done, how he’d neglected and condemned Tom Riddle and then molded Harry himself, how he’d slowly attempted to manipulate the world into his own vision with his schemes. Deep down, Harry knew that Albus Dumbledore was not an evil man. He really wanted what he thought was best for the world.

But, to Harry, Dumbledore’s vision for the world was wrong. He was too stuck on seeming righteous, on his own way being the one and only way. He condemned others for having different ways and beliefs even as he espoused accepting others for those differences he deemed acceptable.

But he was only human, and humans made mistakes. His mistakes held a greater weight than those of others by virtue of his power and position, but no being was infallible. Every person could only make their own choices and fight for what they believed in; Dumbledore may have used methods Harry abhorred, but essentially he himself was now doing the same thing by working for the reformation of the Wizarding world under Voldemort’s rule. The line between a revolution and a hostile takeover is in the opinion of the teller.

“There was an attack last night, Harry—“

Harry clasped a hand over his heart and used his supposed panic to let him stare wide-eyed away from Dumbledore’s eyes. “Sir? Please tell me it wasn’t the Weasleys or Professor Lupin or any of the others!”

“My boy, I’m afraid it was your family.”

Harry stilled, a combination of acting and real disgust. His _family_ indeed. “The Dursleys, sir?”

“I’m so sorry, Harry.”

“It was Voldemort, I assume?” He tried to inject some kind of upset into his tone, but it came out rather deadpan. Well, it wasn’t like it was easy to summon up much feeling about those pigs.

Harry could feel Dumbledore staring at him, hands linked before his chin. “Yes, it was. I am not sure how he learned of their location, but he arrived there near midnight last night. I hate to put this on your shoulders, my boy. That Voldemort would deprive you of what family you had remaining—“

Harry snorted, unable to help himself. “Right. Is that all, Headmaster?” He flicked his eyes back only long enough to confirm that Dumbledore’s eyes had narrowed. He looked away to enter a staring contest with a rather rotund former Headmistress over Dumbledore’s left shoulder.

“You are taking this… differently than I thought you might.”

For a moment, Harry resisted. But then, not showing his temper at all was likely more suspicious. “And how did you want me to take it, sir? Am I sorry they’re dead? Sure, I’m sorry when anyone dies in this war, especially because of their connection to me. Am I going to be sad about never seeing the Dursleys again? Not really. You’ve known for years how they’ve treated me; it can’t be _that_ much of a surprise that I’m not miserable.” The last came out as a furious hiss, his body curling inward with tension.

“I know your life with them may not have been perfect, but surely it was not so terrible that you would not mourn the loss of those who raised you?”

Harry wished to curse the old man. “Don’t toy with me, Headmaster. I know you know just how bad it was.”

He thought the man would try to defend himself, but instead silence fell over them.  Harry wondered how to pull the conversation back onto a track that was not quite so likely to cause suspicion in Dumbledore, but the old man ended up doing it for him after a long, drawn out sigh. “We shall have to agree to disagree, my dear boy. No one can tell you how to feel. Now, there was another matter I wished to discuss with you, then, if your upset is not so great as to demand the conversation be postponed.”

Harry forced himself to relax and looked up, raising an eyebrow and trying not to look like he was avoiding Dumbledore’s eyes on purpose. “Is it our next lesson?”

“In a way. You see, I need to recruit you and your talented friends to do a bit of research for me; I fear I haven’t been able to find the time and time surely is not waiting for me to locate it. I would normally not burden a student with such a thing, but I know Miss Granger, Mister Weasley, and yourself are more than capable. You see, a necessary piece of our puzzle missing. I had hoped to have you assist me in finding that piece, but I am afraid the avenue I had wished to follow has now been closed.” That wasn’t cryptic at all. Harry his expression stiff so as to not roll his eyes. “So instead, I hope that we may find an alternative path to take to make this picture clear to us even without it.”

Harry wondered what the Headmaster would do if he chided him for mixing his metaphors. “What do you need us to research?”

“I will let you know soon, I merely wished to make sure you would be willing to assist an old man in this. I know your studies take up much of your time—“

“You know I’ll do whatever you need me to do, sir. If it’s to defeat Voldemort, of course I will.”

Blue eyes were twinkling again, and Harry itched to escape their gaze. “Indeed, my boy. Please check with your friends, but assuming they will be amenable I will send you information in the coming weeks.”

Harry nodded and stood, bowing his head. “I’m sorry for being short with you, Headmaster. Halloween always makes me a bit jumpy.”

“It’s of no concern, my boy. I assure you, I have had far worse. We will discuss what the loss of your living arrangements means at a later date, but for now, farewell.”

Knowing Dumbledore, he was concocting some way to keep Harry wrapped in cotton wool and away from any possible non-Dumbledore influences over the summer. Harry was glad he would be long free by then. “Have a good evening, sir.”

Harry paused outside the gargoyle statue, half pleased that the man didn’t seem suspicious of him and half enraged at the man’s audacity. He swallowed both down and hunched, stalking back towards Gryffindor Tower. Time to tell the others of his ‘tragic loss’.

“Harry? Why are you doing homework? C'mon, mate, I got one of the limited edition decks of Exploding Snap. Let’s play a game.”

Harry ground his teeth as he ignored the redhead, continuing to write his Potions essay as if Ron wasn't there. This was far from his first attempt this evening to entice Harry away from his homework. He would be damned if he didn't get good grades this year; he was a grown man with knowledge that surpassed most of the other students (barring, perhaps, Hermione), and there was no way he was going to look like an idiot. Especially when it came to Snape, he refused to do anything but his best. The man would look down on him no matter what he did, but Harry relished in the idea of forcing the man to see his competency. Besides, for all that it was beneath his level, schoolwork was often infinitely preferable to interaction with his so-called peers.

“Harry, mate, what's with you lately? You've turned into Hermione!”

“Ronald! That's just rude! I'm glad Harry is taking his education seriously for once. You could learn from him! This year and the next are the most important we will face—“

Harry stood abruptly, waving his wand to send his books and papers flying up to the dorms. The teens arguing only feet away didn’t seem to notice. Harry rolled his eyes and stalked out of the common room, ignoring the late hour. He’d go to see if Dante was up to working on the secrecy spell or, barring that, sparring with Harry until some of his aggression was released. He’d just fed the night before when he’d had to run off to escape the saccharine, disingenuous pity from his housemates over his relatives’ deaths – when a seventh year girl had tried to use the opportunity to bat her eyes at him under the guise of ‘comforting’ him, he’d had to take drastic measures to keep his temper – so he didn’t even have that excuse for his irritable mood.

Really, it was just becoming all-too-clear that the gap between he and his once-best friends was nearly insurmountable. He loved them with all his Gryffindor sentimentality (and wouldn’t Voldemort sneer at that?) but the sheer childishness of the two of them sometimes left him cold inside. He had no illusions about them staying with him once his allegiances came to light, but that separation would be due to his choices, not because he’d outgrown them. Being around them drove home for him what a different person he was from the boy they’d known.

He was happier as who he was now, yes. But that didn’t mean he didn’t wish the changes weren’t so drastic that it made his friendships all but impossible. He was glad he had Dante and Valerian, that he’d found such a good match in Voldemort, else he’d probably feel terribly lonely.

Harry shook his pathetic thoughts away and shoved his hands into his pockets, skipping down a staircase that was in mid-motion to reach the proper floor for Dante’s rooms.

As he turned a corner, he sensed the upcoming impediment by feel then sound, a sharp grin overtaking his face. Well. Little chance of any passersby, a corridor Harry knew had only a single portrait that was nearer the far end… he supposed this was as good a chance as he’d get to play for a while. Harry leaned against the wall beside a suit of armor, pulling out one of his daggers from his warded pouch and proceeding to pick under his fingernails with it.

He didn’t raise his eyes, but he could picture the scene well enough by the sounds alone. The swift, evenly paced steps suddenly faltered with an indrawn breath, a sudden shuffling stumble as he tripped over his own feet. Harry grinned as widely as he could without making his fangs obvious, peering up through his messy fringe to pin Draco in place with his eyes. The boy was pale already, held unnaturally still and staring.

“Fancy seeing you here, Malfoy.”

Harry could see him swallow. “P-Potter! What are you—I mean, out after curfew, Potty?” His attempt at his normal haughtiness was ruined by the dart of his eyes and the way his pulse was jumping at his throat.

“Too bad Prefects can’t take points from other houses, yeah? I know you enjoyed that bit of the Inquisitorial Squad, even if that managed to blow up in your face like everything else.”

Draco puffed up, cheeks reddening. “I can still go get Professor Snape and see you in detention ‘til Yule, Scarhead!”

Harry sighed and gave a gentle toss of his dagger into the air, calling the boy’s attention to it. Silvery eyes widened almost to the point of bugging out and stuck that way, tracking the flash of metal in the low torchlight as Harry caught and tossed it once more. “So predictable, Malfoy. Whenever you have a problem, you run to someone about it. Daddy, Snape, Voldemort—“ the boy’s flinch was hilarious, “—or whoever else… seems to me that you just aren’t man enough to take on anything by yourself.”

“How _dare_ you?” said Draco, hand thrust into his robes to pull out his wand. “I’ll show you who isn’t man enou—“

Harry had his wrist in a painful grip pinned high above the boy’s head – he’d have liked to pin it uncomfortably high, but his stupid, short sixteen-year-old body was thwarting him again – and the dagger at his throat before Draco could blink. “Go ahead. Show me.”

A nervous sweat broke out at his hairline and his lips were quivering. “U-Unhand me!” he squeaked, trying to twist out of Harry’s grip. “What the hell’s wrong with you, Potter?”

Harry just smiled through Draco’s attempt to free himself, pleased that despite his substandard body he didn’t need to put in much effort to keep the blond in place. “It seems like you’re the one with something wrong, Malfoy. Something cognitive, I think. See, no matter how many times or in how many ways I tell you to back off and leave well enough alone, you just don’t seem capable of getting it. Quite a problem, wouldn’t you say?”

The blond was beginning to panic now, taking fast, gulping breaths and looking for all the world like a terrified rabbit. To add to the comparison, Draco was always good at rabbit _ing_ as well—even when it was not in his best interest. “Hoping I’ll just drop dead from being near you?” he said in a steadily rising tone. “Seems everyone’s doing that to get away from your stench, Potty! Your parents could hardly stand you a year before they went, then your Dogfather, and now your pathetic muggles too? I can’t wait to see what Granger and the Weasel will do to get away from you!”

Harry gave a grim smile and lifted the dagger into his sightline, satisfied to see Draco still and pale to a pasty grey as he was reminded. “Ah, I see I have your undivided attention.” He let the pause go on uncomfortably long before he burst into motion, thrusting the blade in close to Draco’s face and laughing when his skull cracked against the stone wall in an attempt to jerk away. “Now, Draco,” Harry continued in an amused purr. “Let’s go over this one last time: Leave me alone. Nothing I do has anything to do with you. Stay out of my way.” He moved in closer, holding the blade a bare fraction of an inch from Draco’s eye, sneering now. “And this is your last warning about my parents, you little shit. I rather like your father, but I have no compunctions against slitting both your parents’ throats and feeding you their hearts raw if you don’t learn to shut the fuck up.”

He dropped him then, equally pleased and disgusted to see the boy had wet himself sometime in the last few moments. He didn’t even bother calling attention to it, walking away at a controlled pace and humming to himself in pleasure. He was feeling inspired – hopefully Dante would be up to some spellcrafting after all.

Harry stalked through Riddle Manor in high dudgeon, his magic snapping at people like a riled snake. For all that his meeting with Dumbledore on Sunday past had been successful if annoying, the reaction of the student body to the death of his muggle relatives—

He was glad they’d planned to meet that evening, as he badly needed time away after several days of escalating awkwardness and pity. He’d tried going to Dante after classes, but the elder vampire had gotten sick of him quickly, sending him away after Harry had begun pacing for the third time. Harry had decided his pride could take the blow of showing up early to Voldemort, as the alternative of holing up somewhere with the locket was not something he should keep doing mid-day without precautions, no matter how effective it was.

Voldemort was not in his office when Harry arrived, he noticed; rather than leading him upward off the ground floor, Harry’s scar was pulling him to the left towards the main meeting hall. He stalked in without a care, feeling his magic rise in response as he found Voldemort in just as much a rage as he. The man’s magic was so thick in the room that it was nearly physically suffocating; the dozen or so Death Eaters present were all on the floor in varying states of distress, some managing to keep themselves on their knees while others resembled puddles.  Voldemort himself was standing still as a statue before his throne, a sneer twisting his mouth and making his visage even more horrifying than usual. Crimson eyes snapped to Harry when he entered, and he was gratified to feel the magic shift and abate just a bit when their eyes met.

“Mylläkkä,” Voldemort greeted, jerking his head in a signal for Harry to join him. “Good timing. You can help me devise a way to make these idiots wish they had never been born.”

Harry smiled in a distinctly wicked way, moving through the collapsed Death Eaters with feigned ease. Inside, he wanted little more than to join them prostrate before the magnificence of Voldemort’s unleashed, enraged magic. Or, even better, he rather thought he’d like to melt into the Dark Lord’s lap and purr instead of playing Big Bad Dark Lord, but he forced himself to smirk and walk proudly. “What have they done to displease you?”

“It seems two of my inner circle obtained information they believed would lead them to an Order hideout. Rather than bringing this information to me, as they are _meant to,”_ Harry tried not to grin at the way the Death Eaters all flinched away, “they gathered assistants, went off halfcocked in some vain effort for glory, and found themselves in a trap.”

“The consequences?”

Voldemort’s slitted nostrils flared and several of the prostrate forms began screaming. By the feel of the magic, it hadn’t been so strong as a Cruciatus… but that Voldemort had wandlessly, near-motionlessly cast on a _group_ was impressive enough to make Harry shiver yet harder. It seemed Voldemort managed to do some impossible feat every time Harry saw him. “All eight lost. Three of my men are dead, and yet worse five of my most trusted are now captured and being sent to Azkaban. Fudge hopes to convince the dementors to take care of them.”

Harry’s eyes flicked around, oddly feeling relieved when he spotted Lucius’s pale blonde hair amongst the tormented. So he had not been a loss. “Who?”

“Jameson, Pucey, and Graham dead. The elder Nott, Yaxely, both Lestrange brothers, and Bellatrix on their way to receiving the Kiss.”

That was… just about the worst-case scenario. The three dead were no huge loss, though reasonably competent, but the captured… those five were of their most deadly force, the most experienced fighters. Voldemort had dozens and more Death Eaters, but very few were competent at war after ten years of stagnation. They would need to wait for the current generation of Hogwarts students to graduate to fill their ranks with more combat-oriented wizards and witches.

“Well then, dear, looks like we have some last-minute errands to run.”

He met crimson eyes unflinchingly, a grin growing on his lips as Voldemort began to laugh, low at first but quickly building to a cackle. Harry heard at least one Death Eater actually moan in fear. “We will have to rearrange our plans a bit, darling.”

“Oh, somehow I think we’ll make do.”

The surging of their magic made the assembly shudder as they laughed.

Harry yawned and scratched at his belly as he made his way down the dorm stairs, regretting the brevity of the sleep he had gotten. For all that he didn’t need as much as he had when he was human, he found the weeks of putting off sleep to train with Dante, research, or meet with Voldemort weighing on him. But after tonight, he could catch up a bit since they would have no further time-sensitive immediate plans. He just had to make it through this elongated day: he would leave Hogwarts at lunch, spend the afternoon with Voldemort, take care of Azkaban after nightfall, then use the Time-Turner to get back to Hogwarts before lunch had finished to implement their original Halloween plans. It was a bit simplified now, since they would not be staging anything with Voldemort himself, but Harry thought it would be effective nonetheless.

“Oh, Harry!” Hermione’s voice was startled. “Good morning!”

He smiled in her direction, her hair in more disarray than usual and a long parchment of freshly-written essay hovering before her, and raised a brow. “Early morning?”

She huffed, a curl that was falling into her eyes disrupted by the air. She was frowning when she replied. “One of my roommates had a pretty bad nightmare. I couldn’t fall asleep again after.”

“Want to skive off Herbology and take a nap? I’ll cover for you.”

Her scowl was comical, and Harry couldn’t keep a straight face as she stood. “Harry James Potter, as if I would _ever_. Even if it weren’t Halloween—“ she broke off with a wince.

“Don’t get that look. I haven’t forgotten the date, but you don’t have to act like I’ll explode if you bring attention to it.” He gave her a smile he hoped looked a bit wan. “Might take some time alone this afternoon, though, since I haven’t got anything until Astronomy at curfew.”

“Alone? Are you sure, Harry? You know we’re here for you… and I know you weren’t close, but with Halloween so soon after what happened to the Dursleys—”

He had to look away to hide his dark sneer. He’d heard enough pandering about his poor, dead relatives to last him several lifetimes. “I just want to go flying a bit, clear my head. Even without the excitement Halloween brings, I always wind up thinking about my parents more than usual. And now with Sirius…” He shuffled his feet and hoped he successfully portrayed reluctant sadness.

“Oh, Harry. Are you sure you don’t want company, though? I’m here to talk if you need it, you know I am.”

Harry was saved from responding by Ron galloping down the stairs, tie askew and eyes more closed than open. “Don't nag him, ‘Mione, it won't help. Mate, we should go to the pitch this afternoon in our free block so I can run some tactics by you. We need to do something about Quidditch. We had to let Kirke back on and put him as Chaser. He's terrible, and I think we should move Ginny over with Demzela and have you back as Seeker. I'm sure Katie won't fuss about it, she thinks we need you back too.”

“Ronald! This is not the time for worrying about Quidditch! Can you not be serious just this once?”

Harry sighed and began walking for the portrait hole, knowing they would follow him even as they bickered. Despite Thursdays being his lightest courseload, he had a feeling the morning was going to drag on.

“Azkaban’s wards nullify outside magic,” Voldemort said to the gathered Death Eaters as night fell, “else no incursion would be necessary. When we arrive, you will make your way into the prison to retrieve those being held. While there, if there is time, look for any new, suitable prisoners. There will not be many remaining after our last attack, but any who wish to swear allegiance may be liberated.”

Harry strolled behind the short row of them as Voldemort lectured, relishing in the way the Death Eaters held themselves taut as he passed.

“Myself and Lord Mylläkkä will take care of diverting the stationed forces. The dementors, of course, are more our ally than enemy, but I selected those of you capable of a decent Patronus specifically to ensure your success. Do not fail us. Gather your comrades, make your way back, and we shall Disapparate together once all are accounted for.”

The hall resounded with affirmations and Voldemort stood ramrod-straight for long moments, surveying the half dozen chosen. Harry approached him and exchanged a nod. “Go!”

Cracks of apparition came immediately, and Harry leaned in as an arm wound around his waist. Without a Dark Mark, he could only Apparate in the designated areas, so he let his magic mingle with Voldemort’s and grinned as he was half-twirled as they disappeared.

They landed with spellfire already filling the air. It seemed that the Aurors and guards had been alert for the possibility of attack due to the prisoners they held. Were they more intelligent, Harry thought, they would have hidden the Death Eaters elsewhere. Without the dementors obeying their every command anymore and with a breakout already under the Dark’s belt, they should have known better than to bring the captured there.

No one ever accused Fudge’s Ministry of competence in the face of adversity, however.

Harry fired a Killing Curse over Voldemort’s shoulder even as his surroundings settled, hitting a surprised Auror who had turned to gape at them as they arrived. He heard the hiss of Parseltongue from the Dark Lord and the heat of a spell whizzing past his head as well and assumed his partner had done similarly. They broke apart and Harry was pleased to see that there were at least a dozen Aurors pouring out of Azkaban’s gates and another dozen or more guards following. That was at least triple the usual skeleton Azkaban crew and they’d obviously been waiting for _something_. He assumed they’d also call for reinforcements, adding more to the numbers. He grinned at Voldemort as he spun away, already calling up his magic and firing off spells rapidly into the crowd. This would be _fun_.

“Let us show them the power of magic unleashed, Mylläkkä,” Voldemort called, an entrail-expelling curse hitting a guard who barely looked to be out of Hogwarts.

Harry summoned his Patronus immediately and he saw the Death Eaters do the same, wanting to ensure the dementors stayed away from the battle no matter their assumed allegiance. He was perplexed when the light seemed to shift and contort rather than pouring fluidly into the familiar animal shape, but after a few moments of pulsing deformation it settled into his expected fox Patronus, snarl lifting its snout as it dashed away.

He and Voldemort proceeded to create a spectacle, flinging flashy magic around and luring the opposition away from Azkaban itself and keeping the attention firmly on them. One by one, the Death Eaters they had brought along were able to slip into the prison proper with little notice taken of them, their Patroni following. A brief glimpse of an incorporeal peacock nearly had Harry in stitches; he promised himself he’d tease Lucius mercilessly later.

A group of guards were cowering together behind a single Auror’s shield with their backs against the high, stone fence that ringed the prison. They were just within Azkaban's wards; apparently they were already afraid enough to half retreat. “This is not a situation where safety in numbers is applicable,” he muttered drolly. "And if you're gonna run, just run you idiots." Well, if they thought they were safe they'd learn better quickly. Harry flicked his wand and jerked his arm, calling down lightning from the night sky and directing it at them. It was not even slowed by Azkaban's supposedly ancient wards, let alone the shield, since it was not magic itself, and he cackled as the group was lit bright by the green-tinged electricity and fell dead without even the chance to scream. He flung his arm to the side to send the harnessed bolt careening across the battlefield, sending half a dozen newly-arrived fighters into convulsions before they had even managed to get their bearings.

A sudden rush of heat made Harry’s head snap to the side, awe and exhilaration rushing through him as Voldemort summoned Fiendfyre, a massive snake of supposedly-uncontrollable flames striking out like the cobra it resembled and leaving enemies screaming as they burned. Voldemort twirled like he was dancing, the flames surrounding him dancing with him like they were alive. Harry’s breath was caught and he found himself freezing in place just to watch the morbid beauty of it, flames licking higher and charred corpses quickly forming a widening ring around the Dark Lord.

“Bleeding hell,” Harry gasped, the force of the magic in the air making him dizzy. He knew Voldemort was powerful – he had nearly weekly arguments with himself over how the man’s power affected him – but it suddenly hit home more fully than any number of rule-defying feats had managed. Voldemort was the magical equivalent of a sun, a supernova, bright and burning, and he had spent his several decades of life searching for ways to harness that power, to test the limits of magic as it was known, to do the impossible. The reverence that burned through Harry was knee-weakening but unashamed, and he couldn’t help thinking—

His wand ripped from his hand, tearing Harry’s attention from the glorious spectacle of Voldemort to snarl at the middle-aged witch who had Disarmed him, He was enraged and near-mortified that he had been so inattentive, but he was lucky it had only been an _Expelliarmus_. He was not so competent wandlessly as Voldemort, but he was not helpless without one. One of his daggers had struck the woman in the throat and sent her choking on her own blood before she’d even had a chance to see him retaliate.

He moved to summon back his wand but saw it divert in midair, flying instead into the still-casting Voldemort’s free hand. He grinned over at Harry and immediately began firing off curses with Harry’s wand, his yew wand directing the Fiendfyre snake to strike out at the witches and wizards surrounding him while Harry’s blackthorn wand sent skin-melting curses, bone-twisting hexes, and several rather gruesome Parseltongue spells at the guards and Aurors further out with nary a pause between castings. Harry ignored the resurgence of lust and awe; this was not the time to contemplate, though he wondered how much better still the man could have been with his holly wand, brother as it was to Voldemort’s.

He pulled another of his daggers and spelled them replicating, dashing back into the fray and forcing himself to stop watching Voldemort devastate their enemies. He was to contribute, not just spectate, no matter how inspiring watching his partner work was. He threw several daggers at a group of guards trying to approach Voldemort from behind, vaulting himself up and over an Auror in his path and slitting his throat even as he landed. He made his way close enough for Voldemort to toss back his wand and immediately called down more lightning, glad it was a stormy night, flicking his wrist to send the earth beneath the last concentrated group of enemies exploding. They flew in all directions, but Voldemort’s Fiendfyre seemed to be everywhere, enveloping them before they even hit the ground with Harry firing off spells to Stun and Bind the few not enveloped. They’d discussed this the night before; they would leave a few alive to tell the story of what had happened here.

Soon, too soon, it was quiet. Harry panted for breath, exhilarated and wide-eyed, his mind clouded with the Dark magic in the air and the heady thrum of blood through his veins. Part of him wailed to sink his fangs into Voldemort’s neck and taste the intoxicating magic directly, to taste him that instant. He pushed the desire aside and jogged to Voldemort with a widening grin and saw the fiery snake shrunken now and coiled around him like in a parody of Nagini. Voldemort’s face was as crazed with joy and power as his own likely was. The flames were dismissed as Harry approached, breathless and laughing. “That was _magnificent_.”

“I did not know you had an elemental affinity, Harry,” Voldemort purred, prowling forward with the predatory, feline grace that never failed to make a shudder roll down Harry’s spine. “What other secrets do you hide from me?”

Harry did not flinch away as Voldemort stopped well within his personal space, leaning close with crimson eyes narrow and appraising. “Can’t give away all my secrets, now can I? How will I remain mysterious if I tell you everything outright?” He patted Voldemort’s cheek, gaze going intent as he watched and felt the hint of dark stubble rise under his touch. He moved forward, intent on gripping the man’s face in both his hands and seeing how far the transformation would spread, half-madly wondering what would happen if Harry _kissed him_ , but the sudden stony expression on Voldemort’s face as he jerked away gave him a moment’s pause.

He heard them then, the returning Death Eaters. By the hesitant awe they approached the wards’ edge with, Harry thought they’d likely exited the building some time before and had stayed in the shadows to watch the devastation. Harry let his hand drop but gave Voldemort a pointed look as they approached. “You know you’re going to have to explain sometime. I think I’ve been ridiculously patient, but that won’t last.”

Voldemort’s mouth twisted, but Harry could see the way his gaze burned even though he did not deign to answer.

“Rowle, Harper, collect the three living and drop them in the Ministry atrium. _Morsmordre_!” Voldemort called once he had looked over his followers, shooting the Dark Mark into the sky.

“My glorious lord!” Bellatrix’s distinctive voice was shrieking with laughter, further dousing any urges that might have survived. Just the presence of the bitch was enough to raise his hackles most days. The Death Eaters took the Mark’s casting as the signal to Disapparate, leaving Harry and Voldemort inches apart and staring.

“Shall we make this place unusable?” Harry murmured, conciliatory… for the moment.

Voldemort lifted a brow. “How do you propose we do so?”

Harry threaded his fingers through the Dark Lord’s, pleased to note that the man hardly reacted to his impudence anymore, and gave a wicked grin that exposed his fangs. “Come now, Tom. Wards only extend so far, and Azkaban is an _island_.”

The smirk he got in return was chilling, and Voldemort tightened his grip on Harry’s hand, a bare flick of his wrist raising them a meter into the air. “Touché, darling. Shall we?”

The two of them faced the warded, gated building, each raising their wands in the hands that were not joined. There was no spell or incantation, but the way their magic surged and mingled lit the area in a wash of eerie green spell-light regardless. Harry gasped as Voldemort’s magic flowed through him like electricity itself, feeding Harry’s own power until he was light-headed. The bolt of lightning they summoned turned night into day and blinded them, the wash of power and the breaking of the sound barrier physically throwing them back in the air and leaving their ears ringing, but Harry could feel the vibrations as the earth rumbled below them, the roar of the sea as it churned. He found himself laughing maniacally and Voldemort joined him, high and mad, Azkaban in ruins sinking under the waves as the light faded.

Voldemort reeled him in, keeping Harry aloft with an arm around his waist rather than with magic alone. And even through their continued laughter they were spinning, magic crackling as they disappeared.

Harry lounged on the throne Voldemort had added beside his own some weeks past as the Dark Lord doled out punishment to those they had liberated. The newly initiated had already been hauled away by members of the team they had taken, leaving Harry, Voldemort, the freed, and Lucius behind. The three Lestranges were apparently using Malfoy Manor as a hideout, so Lucius was left standing stone-faced as the punishment for the failed raid was carried out.

Bored – no matter how enjoyable seeing Bellatrix writhe was, Voldemort’s unwillingness to leave permanent damage on his prized followers meant he used little other than the Cruciatus as castigation – and knowing he could not yet leave, Harry made his way to where Lucius stood. The blond was unmasked, hair slightly mussed, and his eyes held an oddly intent light when his attention snapped to Harry. “Hello there, Pretty,” Harry cooed, sidling in close. “No trouble inside, I assume?”

Lucius’s gaze flickered to the spectacle in the middle of the room and back again. “No, my lord. As I reported, they kept the few current prisoners all in the same wing of the prison, so locating them was swift. Only three we deemed suitable refused to join us.”

“Well, I’m sure they regretted that for a moment or two before drowning. Azkaban should be at the bottom of the North Sea by now.”

“Oh?” Lucius’s voice was a bit choked. “I had thought the wards around Azkaban nullified any magic from outside affecting the inside and vice versa?”

Harry grinned wickedly and walked two fingers up Lucius’s sternum. “Magic, yes. And the building, yes. But we destroyed _the island_.”

Pupils overtook the pale, silvery grey of Lucius’s eyes in a heartbeat, and Harry could feel the man’s pulse pick up. “I assume you used an elemental spell to bypass the protections, my lord?”

“Ah, saw a bit of that, did you?” Harry murmured, still leaning close as his eyes narrowed. “You’re being suspiciously deferential.”

The blond cleared his throat and swallowed visibly. “Ah, I am trying to show my lord the respect he deserves.”

“And what brought this on?” He leaned in closer yet, the hand that had stayed resting against Lucius’s chest sliding up to his neck, fingers gently tapping against his pulse in time with the rapid beat.

Lucius’s eyes slid shut, though his posture stayed straight and proud. “I underestimated you greatly. Even after I knew your identity, I could not understand why my lord would allow any other to stand at his side when he is so very far above us all. But today…”

“I’m still nothing compared to Voldemort,” Harry said wryly, surprised at his honesty. “Today was one of the times I understood very much why you all flocked to him.”

“He is magnificent, indeed,” Lucius murmured, eyes opening again half-lidded. “But you displayed your own prowess this evening. Your magic is… enchanting.”

Harry’s smirk widened, interest making his insides tighten. No matter how he’d threatened Draco, Harry didn’t think he’d really be able to kill this man; he was too fun. He leaned in until he was nearly draping himself against him, a chuckle vibrating his chest. “Quite the compliment—“

“Lucius, take your charges. You are dismissed.”

Voldemort’s voice was a dark hiss and startlingly close. Harry spun in surprise, finding Voldemort only steps away and glaring over Harry’s shoulder. This close, Harry could hear the way Lucius’s breathing hitched. “Y-Yes, my lord.”

Harry kept his eyes on Voldemort as the Dark Lord tracked Lucius with his eyes, following his hasty progress to where the three Lestranges knelt shaking before Voldemort’s throne. Harry flicked his eyes away for a bare moment to see the wide-eyed terror stark on Lucius’s face as he pulled out a ribbon, ensured they all touched, and activated the portkey. Voldemort stood stock-still, eyes trained on the spot they had occupied, eyes burning and posture rigid.

“What was that about?” Harry asked hesitantly, trying to force his usual irreverence into the tone. But there were times Voldemort’s anger effected even him, loathe though he was to admit it. “Pretty got you narked?”

Voldemort’s gaze snapped to him, though he did not seem to move a muscle otherwise. “Come, Potter. We have last minute details to go over before you go back to Hogwarts. I have no compunctions against verifying that no alarms were raised in your task before sending you back to do it.”

As Voldemort strode away, robes snapping, Harry could only stare after him. What in the world had that been about?

Harry did loops over the lake on his broom, rather relishing the peace and quiet of the moment. He hadn’t had a chance to just _fly_ in years. He’d done so occasionally while in Sceaduwe, but ‘outside’ there was no place for a partly-mortal boy, no matter whom his friends might be. So other than occasional jaunts when he was on training missions with Dante, he had had very little time on a broom since he had left this timeline a decade ago. He’d forgotten the depth of his love for the way it made him feel.

He let himself go into freefall, the wind whipping painfully against his cheeks, the lake looming larger and larger as he neared it. When he pulled out of the dive, water was kicked up in high arcs by the force of his momentum.

 _//Master says you are the most foolhardy, impudent, ridiculous little monster in existence!//_ came a hissy screech from around his collarbone, making Harry laugh with real amusement. He slowed himself a bit, taking care to meander out of sight of the castle and back again at random intervals. He needed to be seen flying to cement his whereabouts if questioned later; being out of sight for a bit was expected while he wandered around the grounds on his broom. His unwilling passenger writhed where she was shrunken and wrapped around his neck. // _Curse you for making me too small to squeeze the life out of you!//_

_//You both worry too much. I have always been very good at flying.//_

_//Like when you nearly got yourself killed in your first year?//_

_//Got_ myself _killed?//_ Harry said with as much incredulity as he could express through Parseltongue. He wished he understood how it was that Voldemort could communicate with Nagini, but he was more thankful than annoyed about it at the moment. _//I think that was you, Tom.//_

_//Regardless, I am cold and do not wish to die with you when you plunge to your death. Cease your foolishness, Lord Brat. My Warming charm requires renewal and I command you to obtain three fat mice for me before I am to be your sentry.//_

_//I don’t think you’re currently large enough to eat even a single fat mouse,//_ Harry said wryly. _//But I shall feed you before we begin our task, Your Highness. And tell Tom to pay attention to the me that is in the room with him else I’ll get jealous.//_

Snakes were not capable of rolling their eyes, but Nagini’s tone conveyed the sentiment well enough. _//Master has several uncomplimentary things to say in reply, but I am not an owl and will not exchange correspondence between you, not even for Master. Unless there’s something important to be communicated, feed me!//_

For that, Harry dove into a corkscrew and ended it by flying vertically at a dizzying speed. Nagini’s protests were unintelligible, her miniaturized fangs pressing to his neck in threat. He knew she wouldn’t actually bite him; she was quite venomous, even while shrunken. It might be overconfident to think so, but Harry was pretty sure Voldemort liked him too much to let him die. Even if he didn’t, being Harry Potter meant Voldemort would never want him to die by any means but his own hand.

The fact that the Dark Lord had insisted he bring Nagini along at all was telling, though. He’d been unwilling to meet Harry’s eyes during the exchange and emphasized the intelligence transmission aspect, but Harry knew it was mostly to have some form of backup that Tom had control over. He grinned at the memory, even as he touched down out of sight in the Dark Forest and helped track down a quick snack for the snake.

He waited until several minutes after the Clocktower’s bells chimed the beginning of the final block of the day before making his way through the halls under his invisibility cloak. He’d watched his quarry on the Marauder’s Map every Thursday that month and knew she spent her free time until dinner more or less in one place, alone, in her classroom or her rooms above it.

He had forgotten how much he hated the seemingly-endless staircase to the classroom. He cast the Sight-Shrouding curse at both the portrait of ladies in fancy petticoats at the bottom of the staircase and the monks at the top; the magic of Hogwarts answered to its Headmaster, and he wasn’t sure what all Dumbledore could get out of them even without cooperation, so he’d rather not a single occupant ever even know they’d been stopped from observing.  Better to freeze the portrait out entirely than give Dumbledore a more precise time he’d passed or some flash of him seen through the cloak. Once he was sure the monks were blind, he crouched and let Nagini slither onto the floor, renewed her Warming charm, and Disillusioned her despite her irritated protests at the feeling. _//I shall bite any who approach, Lord Brat.//_

_//If they are younglings, please refrain. They won’t be able to get past the locking spells I’ll put on the hatch, anyway.//_

_//As you wish,//_ she muttered, already slinking into a shadow. _//Be swift.//_

He shot a proximity alarm at the top step of the staircase as a redundancy and gazed up the ladder. Another spell confirmed that she was alone above, and Harry swiftly made his way to the top of the ladder and set as complex a series of wards as he could in Hogwarts on the trapdoor itself. Most of the best protections were Dark magic, so they were logged by Dumbledore’s protections. Harry hoped they’d die when he did, or that they would at least be easy to dismantle once the Headmaster was dead.

His quarry had dragged one of the tables over to the fireplace and was currently dropping purple eggs the size of his fist on a plate, muttering and squinting at the resultant mess. He cast a final locking spell – this time on the inside of the trapdoor – and removed his invisibility cloak.

She didn’t even look up until he had folded his cloak aside, removed his school robes as well, and waved his wand to banish the stifling, smoky haze of incense. Her eyes were wide and confused as she blinked at him across the room.

“Hello there, Professor Trelawney. You have no idea how glad I am to see you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope this makes up for the boring interlude. We're finally getting somewhere, folks.
> 
> As an aside, more for amusement's sake I often look up compatibility reports for my pairings (full chart style, not sign x sign). For lulz, I did HPTR. The amount of perfect these things sometimes are makes me cackle.
> 
> A few excerpts:  
> "Here is a couple that may have frequent disputes, as they may find it difficult to speak calmly. They might too frequently adopt an aggressive, defensive, or offensive stance with one another. Conflict is caused if they both want to dominate the other, and if they do not consciously attempt to relate on the basis of mutual understanding. One may lay down the law, give orders, and makes decisions and the other may be an independent type, who cannot stand being limited, taking orders - the more so from the partner."
> 
> "A very strong passion but destructive at times. Jealousy, possessiveness, and resentment are very possible."
> 
> "Favorable union of the minds. They speak to each other about things they never talk about to others."
> 
> So yeah, now I'm resisting having Luna pop up with similar thoughts via the stars. Seems like it would be too cracky for this fic. :P
> 
> Again: THANK YOU to all who read and all my love to those who leave comments and kudos. You guys keep me going even when I'm in this rut of being all adult-ish.


	14. Facinorous // incredibly wicked

Sybill Trelawney was a parody of confusion, swinging her head to and fro, looking from Harry to the closed trapdoor to the splatter of egg on her plate and back again. The bangles on her wrists chimed as she fluttered like the beetle she resembled. “That can’t be right.”

Harry gave a skeptical hum. “Eggs, Professor?”

“Ovomancy, Mister Potter. Which you would know had you even a sliver of the gift within you,” she said with an exaggerated sadness and an attempt at a sage nod, though she still regarded him with a squinting confusion. “I do not fault you for your ignorance, however. It is a nebulous art even for one as gifted as I. Unfortunately, I believe your presence is skewing my readings.”

“Is that so?” he replied, playing at interest as he approached. “What are they telling you?”

“I’m afraid it foretells troubles upcoming for you, my boy. No matter how it is cracked, the yolk is breaking on impact but in such a way as it never leaves the albumen. It means pointlessly violent death with great consequences.”

He had to stifle the urge to grin, coughing to have the excuse to cover his mouth. “Hm, I see.”

“Well? I’m sure you’re here for a reason. You do not wish to take my classes once more do you? I know that the loss of the glimpses of the future you obtained here is a tragedy, but you do not have the Sight, my dear boy. It would be fruitless.”

“Ah, no ma’am. I actually came to ask you for a favor. It’s really important.” Her head bobbled on her skinny neck as she peered up at him with interest, squinting. “It’s about prophecies.”

“Prophecies!” Trelawney exclaimed, great joy overtaking her face. “Ask away! You have come to the right person, Mister Potter.”

“You’ve given many of them, right?”

“Indeed, indeed!” She bobbed more fervently, one of the scarves she had twined in her hair coming loose in the motion. Her voice was even heavier than usual with the self-important, hazy tones she affected. “It is the burden of one with the Inner Eye—I see the future in every other glance, I dare say! Do you recall your classes with me? Why, I prophesied—”

He cut her off, amused but knowing he could not toy with her as long as he might have wished. “What about Second Sight prophecies? Do you know much about them?”

“Ah,” she said with a frown, obviously suspecting foul play now. She was often mocked for her lack of her famous ancestor’s true prophecies. “Too many confuse them with the Sight itself. They are flashier, perhaps, but other avenues of foretelling provide much more insight. I fear there is little I can tell you that will illuminate. As a mere Object, you cannot hope to—”

“I know that the magic governing Second Sight prophecies activates a subset within the Tracking matrix and automatically records the prophecies in the Department of Mysteries.” By her startled, confused expression, he assumed she’d had no idea of that. Some great Seer. “But did you know that the prophecies still live within the Seer’s mind as well? A gifted Legilimens could extract it even though the Seer has no recollection of having made the prophecy in the first place.”

Her brow crinkled as she scrunched her nose, her oversized glasses sliding down the bridge. “That is… interesting, I suppose. Useless, but interesting.” Her eyes darted away and she looked uncomfortable now; Harry wondered if it was because of her family’s history or if she knew more about her supposedly secret ability than he thought. “Here, dear boy, would you like to know if you will be lucky in love?” She fumbled, grabbing a bundle of twigs from the mantle and tossing them onto the table. One skittered off and skewered the eggy mess, while the others fell in an oddly angled mess like a caricature of a campfire. “Oh dear. Violence, contention, jealousy… and passion, adoration, life-altering love? How can that be?” The last was muttered to herself and she was a bit pale now, hunched in her seat and squinting at the twigs. “What— twin flames?”

He let his secondary wand fall back into his hand, mildly disconcerted by her mutterings. He shut away any part of him that tried to contemplate it, knowing attaching anything like legitimacy to Trelawney’s ramblings was a fool’s errand, and flicked a _Mobilicorpus_ at her. He easily overpowered her attempts to fight back and walked her into a suitable starting position before him, pleased by her stuttering protests.

“What—Mister Potter, what are you—how dare—!“

“ _Marfingo 1_,” he said casually, amusement quirking his lips when she began twisting her neck from side to side to observe her frozen body. The Mannequin curse really was a favorite of his. “Sorry, Professor; you were boring me.”

“What is this?” she squeaked, buggy eyes so wide he thought they’d pop out. “You’ll be in serious trouble for hexing me, young man; I’m still a professor at this school, you know, even if I’m not yours anymore! If you let me go right this instant—”

“Ah, no. I don’t think so. Just feel lucky that the wards would log most of my favorite curses, else I’d have a good time trying out a few fun, obscure spells on you. How would you have liked to have your bones suddenly shattered into a thousand, jagged splinters? Every twitch of movement would further the damage, so that would be a fun one. Oh!  Even better, Voldemort found one last week that makes a person’s internal organs begin to swell at a rapid rate, eventually exiting the body however they can manage. I’d like to see how that works in practice. Such a shame.”

She’d already been pale, but tears began welling in her eyes as he talked and her heart rate was skyrocketing. She shook her head rapidly, the mess of trinkets and scarves she wove into her hair becoming more of a jumbled mess than ever. “Y-you’ve been possessed by evil! I always knew Darkness lied in your future; why did I not act when I could? I should have told them all you’d be no good for any of us!” Her face screwed up suddenly, her mulish contempt swapping for stark fear. “I-I mean… please, my boy, let’s not be hasty. I know ways to purify you of the evil that has infected you; if you just let me up to my rooms I can help you! There’s no need for anyone else to get involved; I won’t tell a soul!”

“I suppose I shouldn’t tell you to feel lucky, though,” he mused, ignoring her blathering as he pulled out his mokeskin pouch and began rummaging around in it. “You’re needed to send a message, after all. I’ll have to go all out on presentation. But I’m not heartless. I can let you die quickly if you’d like.” He found one of his larger daggers and removed it, slipping it from its sheath and presenting it with a flourish. “Well?”

“You’ll pay for this! I always knew you’d go bad!” Her renewed attempts at struggling had knocked her glasses askew, and he was amused to see that her eyes were naturally too _small_ for her face. “The Darkness is like an _aura_ around you! How has no one seen how corrupted your soul has become?!”

“The Light’s golden boy, Dark? How silly of you,” he said with a laugh, casting imperviating spells on his clothing to keep any blood from staining him. “Now, I’m really not much of a sadist usually. I don’t even like seeing people die for no reason. But really, Professor… you should have taken me up on the chance for a quick death. The Exsanguination charm isn’t meant for the amount of blood I need from you and the nature of it keeps your heart beating even as the blood leaves your body. I can only imagine it’s going to get very, very painful even if I wasn’t also going to be carving you up a bit.”

He considered his options as she began to hyperventilate and babble incoherently, tapping his lips with the flat of the blade as he looked her over. After a moment, he slit up her robe sleeves from wrist to shoulder, letting the gauzy material flutter back to expose her knobby arms. He pulled them outward at a downward angle and sunk his blade in just above her armpit, not pushing in very deeply but making sure the wounds bled freely. He decided to be artistic as he followed her arm down, letting the blade swoop and curve the cut like a vine.

He ignored her histrionics as she tried to free herself from his spell and cursed him both in attempted spells and in several surprisingly creative invectives. He chuckled occasionally as he repeated the cuts on her other arm and knelt, rifling through his pouch once more to find the deep wooden bowl he’d spelled specially for the occasion. The Exanguination charm kept the blood running freely down her arms, and a quick redirection spell saw the bowl filling quickly.

“Well, this may not take nearly as long as I thought it would,” he said cheerfully. He glanced up at the Divination professor to note that she was very pale and hysterical by now, screeching about demons and exorcisms, making him quickly ignore her again. With minimal fuss, the blood was nearing the brim. Harry was pleased. He took several deep draughts from the bowl as he contemplated his next move, licking his lips after and wrinkling his nose. “Hmm, strange,” he said, peering at the remainder and sliding it back under a mutilated arm to re-fill once more. Magical beings were different than muggles when it came to blood; the taste varied widely depending on their heritage, power level, and magical proclivities. He wasn’t sure if it was her Seer blood or if she had some magical creature or another in her family tree, but Trelawney had a peculiar nutty aftertaste to her blood that left him smacking his lips awkwardly. It wasn’t unpleasant necessarily, but it was weird. “Suppose it’s only right that a barmy old bat like you tastes nuttier than a squirrel,” he told her, grinning, tickled by his own wit.

“All that death I saw around you,” she rasped, voice barely a gasp. “It was never your death at all. It was the death you would wreak, the pain you would inflict. Had I only known—”

“Like anyone would have believed you, even if you managed to actually see something like that,” he scoffed.

Like a switch had been flipped, her expression went slack and vacant, head hanging limp like her strings had been cut. He assumed she had gone into shock or something similar. She was muttering under her breath, face blank now that she’d stopped screaming and carrying on. He ignored her.

He gave a quick tap to the runes on the bowl to seal it against leaking and keep the blood from congealing. He pulled out the Blood Replenisher he’d also brought when he placed the bowl carefully away, standing to grip Trelawney by the hair and tugging her head back. “You’ll want to take this without a fight; you won’t like my solution if you don’t.”

Her chin quivered and the potion dribbled from the corners of her mouth, but she swallowed enough for it to count. He just needed her stable enough to take off the Exsanguination charm without sending her immediately into cardiac arrest; he needed her alive long enough to rip at her mind a bit in case Dumbledore thought to check soon after her death. He waited to see her skin go less ashy before standing and yanking her arms out to the side. He clucked his tongue when the wrenching of her mutilated arms didn’t even produce a cry. Seems he’d broken her rather quickly. He looked at his dagger and shrugged, jamming it to the hilt under her collarbone. “Hold that for me, Professor.”

Her head jerked in reaction, but other than the rapidity of her muttering increasing there was no reaction. He shook his head as he began to circle her in contemplation; if she wasn’t going to be any fun, he’d just need to get down to business and decide her presentation. Originally, Voldemort had planned to have them decorticate her and use the skin as morbid parchment, but Harry thought leaving her more intact would be more effective. The identification of the victim was important to make it hit home that they _knew_ this person.

He grinned as an idea came to him, fangs exposed as he stood before her. That would do. He was already pulling his blackthorn wand out to begin preparing her when some of her muttering caught his attention and froze him in place. “—born as the seventh month dies… the servant will break free and set out to rejoin the master… fragments reformed, prophecy defied—”

Some of what she said was indecipherable, and some was nothing he recognized. But he recognized several snippets of his own prophecy twined within her nonsense, and was even reminded of the one prophecy he had witnessed all those years ago, the night Pettigrew had been exposed. He stared as her voice rose and fell, lips barely moving, disjointed words pouring from her. He was no master like Voldemort, and had be not gained protections with his vampirism his mind would still be as exposed as a child’s, but he was at least passable at this. “Legilimens!”

Her mind was like stepping into a hurricane. Whether due to her shutting down or the strange prophecy loop she seemed to be stuck in, almost nothing in her mind was decipherable. But, as his research had told him to expect, her prophecies stood out like beacons even in the maelstrom. He focused on the brightest and found himself in the Hog’s Head with Dumbledore watching with a gleam in his eyes. The prophecy went on as expected; he’d half wondered if Dumbledore had changed the wording to it to keep him on the path he wished, but that didn’t seem to be the case.

Finding the next was easy. Harry’s own ridiculously naïve face stared back as the prophecy about Pettigrew was given, the Seer’s voice as tremulous and deep as he recalled.

He saw an odd flickering glow as he stepped out of that memory, obvious as the prophecy was but going in and out like a faulty bulb. He pressed forward towards it, his mental presence oddly hesitant to reflect his feelings on the strangeness. It was grey there, foggy. It was like mist had enveloped his patch of Trelawney’s mind more thoroughly than a winter morning on the shore. Through the haze, he could hear the faintest echo of Trelawney’s voice. “— _beneath lock and key lies the true victor_ —” Other than the occasional repetition of that phrase, all was silence and stillness.

He pressed his mind onward to the next sputtering light. Again, there was fog and stillness, and again, “ _Unto the victor shall go the hallowed_ —”

And again. “— _with fires doused the dragon shall rise_ —”

And again. “ _Eclipse or penumbra, the paths being laid shall_ —”

And once more. “ _Atop his didactic throne he will rule_ —”

He needed to ask Voldemort, but he had his suspicions of what those phenomena meant. He was far from a master in the Mind Arts, though.

Just as he’d decided to leave her mind and get on with his plans in the physical world, he saw one last, vaguely glowing beacon at the forefront of Trelawney’s mind. He paused before it, studying the difference between it and the others. It was less bright, had less a feeling of being _other_ than the other prophecies did. But as he moved to view it, he found it to look very similar to the other prophecies, indeed. Trelawney was alone this time, leaning against a windowsill in, by the view, what must be her rooms above the Divination classroom. It was hot, sweltering even. Her eyes were wide and glassy, her voice deep, and she turned and seemed to stare straight at Harry himself viewing the memory, her entire body twitching.

“ _Paths diverge… what once was to be is no more, the fates altered and torn asunder… Shadow and fulgor tempered, fragments reformed, prophecy defied… The power the Dark Lord knows not must be realized… With the joining of the two shall the full moon rise… The way that might have been is no more… the new path wends onward…_ ”

He found himself suddenly thrown out of her mind and blinking rapidly, staring at where Trelawney still stayed muttering but otherwise unresponsive.

He closed his eyes, free hand rising to pinch the bridge of his nose. What in the _hell_? Was that a new prophecy? It certainly had phrases to suggest it was tied to him. It must have been recent, to still exist there despite what he suspected had happened to most of the other prophecies Trelawney had made. But what did it mean? What was he—

He pushed back on the cacophony of questions piling up in his mind with as much force as he could muster. He did not have time for this now. He would need to wait to decipher any meanings or decide what actions to take because of what he’d found.

First, he needed to ruin her mind entirely and figure out the easiest way to crack open a ribcage.

Albus Dumbledore smiled as he saw Harry Potter finally arrive to the feast, Minerva trailing behind him with her usual stern expression. He gave her a smile as she approached the table and went to sit beside Poppy rather than in her usual place; during feasts, he didn’t mind where staff or students sat. He noted several students sitting at house tables not their own and felt joy at the show of unity, though none but Slytherins were willing to sit at their own table. It was sad but understandable due to the times they lived in. While there were several Slytherins that were true innocents, Tom’s taint meant that even they were often withdrawn from the rest of the school as the war escalated. He did not relish in the ostracization of one house, but it was an acceptable consequence of war. The children, sadly, had to understand early where the battle lines were drawn, who the enemy was, and what the costs of Darkness were.

He watched Harry smile at his friends while enjoying a rather sizable slice of treacle. It gave Albus joy to see the boy enjoying life. Harry had had it so hard, and he deserved every joy he could find. Albus wished he could make his mind work faster, his plans move ahead more rapidly, so the boy had a chance at a normal life. If it was possible for him to survive the war unscathed after defeating the enemy, none would deserve peace so much as young Harry.

He let the feast go on a bit longer than usual, part of his attention ever straying to see when Harry would finish his treat. He’d been flying around the grounds morosely all afternoon, no doubt thinking about the too-many he had lost in his short life, and Albus wanted to make sure he got the chance for the little delights at the very least. It was only after he saw the boy finish off his last bite that he waved a hand for the House Elves to clear the Great Hall of food, sending the children to turn towards him in expectation.

Albus stood and gave them a benevolent smile. He adored his position so very much. There was no place in the world more suited to him than working to shape the young minds of the Wizarding world, helping to nurture them into productive, valuable members of society. As Headmaster he had a less direct role than he had as Transfiguration professor and Head of Gryffindor, but it allowed him to extend his compassion to so many more students. After his mistakes with Tom Riddle and those who had followed him, he’d been more resolved than ever to find a way to save as many students as possible from the wrong path. While he had not yet managed to eradicate Darkness from their world entirely, he would see to it that as few as possible students grew up believing that to be a viable path to take.

The Light was stronger than ever, and Albus knew that was thanks to his years of hard work. With luck, once young Harry fulfilled his role in this war, the world would be ripe to push even further down the correct path. Between his own position in society and Harry’s once he was the Defeater of Voldemort, alive as an icon or dead as a tragic, lost hero, they should have no trouble making sure that generations to come would be protected from the Dark.

His smile faltered when the expressions of awe and joy on the children’s faces suddenly fell, a few startled screams puncturing the silence that had fallen. Wide-eyed, terrified expressions suddenly began overtaking the students’ faces, their gazed trained somewhere above Albus’s head. It was with much trepidation that he turned to see what they focused on, and he felt his aged heart stutter as he took it in.

Hanging at a height to be perfectly visible above Albus while he was standing was a body, blood drying its remaining clothing stiff and expression one of frozen horror. Sybill. Albus raised a hand to press against his aching chest through his shock, unable to understand how such a thing had happened. She was displayed with her bared arms over her head, rivulets of blood decorating them, and her torso vivisected, ribcage split apart at the sternum and peeled back to expose her internal organs. It was obvious there was a spell in place to keep her insides in, as they should have tumbled out after being so exposed. He heard retching behind him, but he could not seem to move from his shock.

In place of her heart was what looked to be a Prophecy Record, its hazy blue glow casting odd shadows on the gruesome scene. Albus startled as the orb sudden dislodged and tumbled free, thumping momentarily against her entrails before dropping and shattering at Albus’s feet.

He stumbled back as a figure emerged; he was not so tall as Albus but was stockier, broad in the shoulder and slim at the waist. Details were hard to see due to the mist the form was made of, but Albus could make out long, long hair that wrapped around the figure like a cape and fangs in his mouth when the figure grinned and began to speak, suddenly animated.

“For those unable to read my message,” he said, and Albus’s eyes ripped away to see, now, that there were large words in what was likely blood scrawled beside Sybill’s body, charmed glowing against the dark stone. Albus’s good sense came back to him in a gasp, straightening himself and raising his wand to banish the misty figure. It did not disappear. “I will recite for you all. This is a prophecy that was made in 1980 to one Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore. ‘ _The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches... born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies...”_

Nothing Albus was doing was stopping the recorded speech, and he was feeling more desperate with every moment that passed. He tried to conceal the text on the wall, tried to obscure the High Table entirely. When nothing worked, he cast an Amplifying charm at himself and cast sparks into the air, hoping to pull attention to him. “Students, please make your way to your common rooms!”

But the figure continued; for that matter, Albus knew the text was still as visible as ever above him even if he managed to drown the words out. The man’s figure was pacing behind the High Table as if he were giving a lesson. “A _nd the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not... and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives... the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies...’_ Now, isn’t that interesting? Let’s talk about a few key points, citizens.”

Albus found himself frozen in place; he had no idea what had caused it, but as soon as the prophecy was read he was unable to move. That terrified him more than any of the rest, as it took something or someone of great power to hold him under its spell. He could not blink or shout, could only stare as the misty figure spun and seemed to make eye contact with him, for all that Albus knew it was a recorded message. In his peripheral vision, Albus could see the rest of the staff similarly frozen in place, even Pomona who had been partway to standing and was immobilized half out of her chair.

“On its surface, it says that someone who was to be born at the end of July 1980 was going to have the power to take down my friend Voldemort, and that the Dark Lord would mark him. I wonder who that could mean?” Whispers sprung up through the hall and the figure laughed. “Why, dear Harry Potter, of course!”

Albus wished he could turn and see what this display was doing to the boy, but instead he was stuck watching this with mounting horror.

“But let’s get something straight: someone having the power to do something does not guarantee that they shall. Does anyone here think a mere boy is capable of doing what your Headmaster apparently cannot? What no other wizard, no matter how trained, has been able to do? Voldemort has years of experience, more knowledge of the Dark Arts than any other wizard alive, is the most powerful Dark Lord in centuries. Yet somehow we are to believe that a mere child will be his downfall?  No, I think not. I think that, whatever power Mister Potter may have that could allow him to – what was that again, _vanquish?_ – the Dark Lord only means he has the ability, not that he has much more than a sliver of a chance of managing it.”

The figure paused now, sightless eyes scanning the silent House Tables where hundreds of eyes watched in frozen terror. “And apparently, according to this ever-so important prophecy, if Mister Potter can’t manage to kill my dear friend?  _No one can_. So really, children, I think you all need to sit down and think for a bit: what side are you on? Why? And do you feel your life expectancy is as it should be? Until you graduate, you will not be sought out specifically unless you go looking for trouble. But perhaps you should reconsider what you plan to do once you set foot from these grounds, children. Will you cower with the Light or come with us, be elevated by the Dark Sect?”

With another laugh, the figure gave a flourishing bow. “My name is Mylläkkä and I am the Dark Lord Voldemort’s new partner. Nothing is as it seems and we will accept any with the brains to know the winning side when they see it. Goodnight!”

There was a flash of light as the recording ended and all the frozen staff were let free of the magic’s hold; Pomona went tumbling from the awkward position, at least a few glasses shattered when they were dropped in the sudden return to movement. And with a sickening squelch, whatever spell had held Sybill’s insides _inside_ faded as well, sending her intestines tumbling to hang like a macabre garland. The shock was wearing off now and sobs and screams began anew, panicked chatter beginning around the room and ramping up by the moment.

Albus had never felt his age more in this moment, as he sent a Silencing charm over the room and tried to regain control.

Though really, after tonight, he wasn’t sure if he’d ever truly be in control again.

Harry awoke curled around the locket as he often did, yawning widely and stroking his fingers over its craggy face. He had had such trouble suppressing his utter glee the night before; pretending to be offended, horrified, scared when all he’d wanted to do was cackle in delight had been almost more than his acting skills were ready for. The presentation had gone _perfectly_. He’d have to make Voldemort get a Pensieve to share this with him, as the expressions on Dumbledore’s face before he’d been immobilized were gold. He’d not managed to find one of the few spells that could subvert Harry’s meticulously-planned spellwork and the Great Hall had remained quiet enough to hear nearly every word of his speech. He was so very pleased with how the performance had gone that he wished he could celebrate.

He grinned now in the privacy of his bedcurtains, pressing the locket closer and chuckling. Ah, he couldn’t wait for Saturday. In the meantime, at least, he’d get to see the student body reaction to both his pet project and to the raid on Azkaban, so he supposed that should be at least somewhat entertaining. Classes would be cancelled, he was sure, so he’d just need to make it through his obnoxious housemates panicking while looking like he was not smug about the situation and all would be well.

He lifted the locket by its chain and let it dangle there for a few moments, the bare peeps of light through the cracks in his curtains catching on its facets as it spun. He should really be more concerned that he more and more was depending on it to temper his moods. He knew, intellectually, that he should absolutely be worried and should have thrown the thing into the lake weeks ago. But he couldn’t bring himself to care about any possible consequences, not when it felt so right when he held it.

He brushed his lips over the smooth back of it and slipped it back into his pouch, determined to get a start to his day to make the next day come sooner. He found the dorm empty; even Ron, who was usually the last awake, was gone. He grabbed his watch and found it was nearing noon, and Harry blinked in shock. He never slept in so late. He supposed it was a consequence of the last weeks on little sleep, his extended day previously, and the comfort of allowing himself to sleep the entire night with the locket out. He shrugged and slipped into the loo to relieve himself, brush his teeth, and ensure that he didn’t look as well-rested and giddy as he was before making his way downstairs.

Despite it being lunchtime, most of Gryffindor seemed to be in the common room. They were huddled in their various cliques, the younger years looking upset and clustered close to one another while the older years looked tense and angry. Harry caught sight of Ron and Hermione’s distinctive heads easily and made a beeline towards them, hunching as he pretended to be uneasy with the way so many watched him both overtly and with attempts at subtlety. Nearly every student was looking his way once he was noticed; obviously the revelations of the night before had left them once more undecided on whether he was their hero or a villain.

“Harry,” Hermione breathed, bringing Ron and Ginny’s heads whipping around to look for him. Neville sat with them as well, face pale and pinched, but after a glance and a quick attempt at a reassuring smile, he looked back towards the fireplace.

“Mate,” Ron said gruffly as he approached. “Sleep well?”

“We wanted to let you rest as long as you could.” Hermione was twisting a lock of hair around her fingers again and again, releasing it and staring over. In her lap was a folded Daily Prophet, which her free hand was clenched around.

Harry stood awkwardly beside where they were; there was no free seat and he didn’t know that he wanted to stay as the center of attention here anyway. “Umm, well, not really. But the extra time helped.” He glanced around, shoulders up around his ears as he made a show of fidgeting. “Wanna go to the Room? I don’t really want to—“

He didn’t need to explain. Hermione nodded decisively and all of them stood; it seemed Ginny and Neville were intent on coming along as well. “Let’s.”

He relaxed slightly once they were out the portrait hole and he could no longer feel so many eyes boring into him. The halls were eerily silent as they cut across to the seventh-floor corridor that held the Room of Requirement. Neville swore as he nearly knocked over the man-sized vase while getting out of Harry’s way. He paced wishing for a quiet space where no one could interrupt them, opening the door to a small, cozy room done in earthy greens and browns with a particularly large fireplace roaring in the corner.

“Ugh, green?” said Ginny, passing him and plopping into a remarkably squashy looking couch.

Ron, too, had his nose wrinkled. “C’mon, mate, fix it!”

Harry gave a laugh and sat in an armchair, pulling up his legs. “This isn’t Slytherin green, this is just… nature green. I wanted something soothing, so the Room gave me this. I like it.”

“I do too,” Neville said softly as he sat adjacent to Harry, smiling over at him. “It’s peaceful.”

Hermione sat beside Ginny and opposite of Ron, her spine straight and the Prophet still clenched in her hand. “Harry, something else happened last night.”

Everyone stiffened, Ron in particularly muttering something rude about not letting anyone relax for even a moment, but Harry just made sure to look worried and wide-eyed. “What is it?”

She unfolded and handed over the newspaper, her expression tense. “Azkaban.”

* * *  
  
---  
**Halloween Horror!**

Halloween, the day that the veil between life and death is at its thinnest, is traditionally a day to honor our lost loved ones and celebrate the bounties of a cooling year. This Halloween, however, was filled with more ghouls and death than most: in the wee hours of the morning, You-Know-Who invaded Azkaban to release his followers, leaving the ancient prison at the bottom of the North Sea before the sun rose.  
  
The death count is immense. On high alert due to the high-profile captures of Tibertius Nott, Corban Yaxley, and all three Lestranges (Rodolphus, Rabastan, and Bellatrix), several aurors were stationed on the island alongside the usual complement of prison guards. The call for backup came quickly, but the single surviving Auror of that first responding group told this reporter that there were no survivors of that original group by the time they arrived. According to the three surviving witnesses, while You-Know-Who arrived with several Death Eaters, they were sent to release the prisoners while only He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named himself and one other figure stayed behind to battle. Despite it being two versus many, those who stood bravely against the Darkness did not stand a chance. (Continued on page 2.)  
  


For information on the three survivors, see page 4.  
For further information on the descruction of Azkaban and the Ministry's plans, see page 5.  
For reactions and interviews, see page 7.  
  
* * *  
  
He only skimmed the article; most of his attention was on the image accompanying it. One of the three witnesses they’d left alive must have been gotten to by a reporter, as it had to have been taken while viewing the memory of the event. No chance someone had had the time and temerity to actually stop and take a picture during the raid.

The image showed the massive Fiendfyre cobra coiled around Voldemort and striking out while lightning arced across the battlefield striking down fighters left and right. Figures were too far away and indistinct to identify, but Harry doubted anyone would have to question who had cast the spells in question. It was an awe-inspiring display of their prowess, and Harry was pleased that such a thing was printed regardless of how terrifying it must be to the general population.

According to the article, they’d managed to take out seventeen Aurors and another twenty-two guards and other lesser personnel. The survivors had appropriately relayed how only Voldemort and one other wizard had been against them, how they’d taken them all down so easily. Harry had to fight down a grin at that, sure it was utterly terrifying the populace. There was no mention of Trelawney; maybe Harry should send in a tip to Rita Skeeter, since it seemed Dumbledore was trying to hush it up?

He tossed the paper away from himself with a mental note to get a copy of his own, closing his eyes and making sure his heavy, deep breaths were visible. “Right. So the war’s really begun, then.”

“Seems so,” Ron grumbled, slouching in his seat. “And here we are, stuck useless.”

“Ronald, we are _students_. It isn’t our job—“

“Except our family is out there!” Ginny shouted, glaring at Hermione’s mulish expression. “Dad and Bill and Mum are all Order members, and Dad works at the Ministry besides! They’re out there, could get killed any day! We should be out there too, helping!”

“What good would that do?” Neville said, soft but firm. “Yeah, we’re not half bad at Defense since Harry’s taught us some, but we’re no match for Death Eaters. We would have been done for if the Order hadn’t shown up at the Department of Mysteries. We’d just be in the way.”

“Maybe _you’d_ be in the way,” Ron snarled, hackles raised.

“Guys… _guys_!” Harry stood and waited until they’d all looked his way, glaring at them. “Fighting each other isn’t going to help anything. For that matter, none of you should be fighting.”

Hermione was scowling at him now, her mouth an angry slash. “Did you know, Harry?”

“About what?” he asked, internally bristling.

“About what the prophecy said.”

Ah. He’d forgotten that he’d never discussed it with them. He’d wondered why she’d been staring at him so hard after they’d been ushered from the Great Hall the night before; Dumbledore’s Silencing charm hadn’t worn off until sometime overnight, so she hadn’t been able to ask. He looked towards the fire to avoid their eyes. “Yes. Dumbledore told me after we got back from the Ministry last year.”

“And you didn’t think to _tell us_?” Ron spat, voice venomous.

“Oh?” Harry said with a mocking grin, turning and making eye contact with each of them in turn. Only Neville didn’t seem angry, instead just looking uncomfortable and sad. “Why does it matter? It’s a prophecy about how I’m going to die unless I can kill Voldemort, the reason Voldemort went after me and killed my parents in the first place. I don’t see why anyone else would need to know. If it hadn’t been shown to everyone in the school, I’d have never told a single person. I love you guys. You’re my best friends, but the prophecy says ‘the one’ not ‘the friends’. This is _my_ fight. Mine. I won’t lose anyone else I love to this stupid war if I can help it.”

He could see the anger on all their faces, but he took the shock as an opportunity to slip from the room and down the hall; he could take advantage of the way the school seemed to have taken to cowering in their common rooms to have some peace and quiet, for once.

The next afternoon, Harry was itching to get out already. He collapsed into his usual chair in Dante’s rooms, sagging down ridiculously. “Can I kill Dumbledore yet?”

Dante gave him a deadpan look before turning back to the papers he was grading. “Can you? Yes. However, I believe that you and your Voldemort have a plan, yes?”

“Don’t call him mine, that’s creepy.” He ignored the faint chuckle that got him in return as he leant his cheek against the arm of the chair. “And yes. The first article should be out next week, detailing an outline of mysteries from his childhood. I think I’ll also send in about Trelawney so that he can’t cover that up for long, and the prophecy to boot. Get people wondering about all he keeps from them.”

“You have answered your own question, then.”

Harry sighed and closed his eyes. “Patience will get easier, won’t it?”

“Hmm.” Dante flipped a page and was silent for a few minutes. “For most, yes. So long as you keep on living something of a ‘normal’ life, interacting with other beings and giving yourself tasks, the more often you come across the slow moments the better you get at the passage of them. Time means so little when you know the years ahead of you number in the hundreds, the thousands.” Harry opened his eyes and found Dante was peering at him over the stack of parchment, feline eyes bright in the dim room. “But you must master this with your own resolve. Many do not, in fact, learn to be patient. It is those who wind up throwing themselves into unwinnable situations or finding other ways to meet their ends. Either way, they no longer must worry about time.”

“So you’re saying I either get over it and learn to be patient or I go kill myself?”

“I am saying those are the common paths. You will not, no matter your hardships or toils, find your own end Mylläkkä. It will not be allowed to happen.”

Harry looked away, uncomfortable with the stern, dark expression his friend gave him. “Yeah, yeah. I’m not suicidal.”

“Time will bring many obstacles. You have those beside you to assist in overcoming them. Patience is but a fundamental one.”

The flames flickered and danced, and Harry stayed in his awkward, slumped position to watch them as Dante left notes and grades on the fourth-year essays he held.

November was beginning with a deep chill that did not abate in the sunlight. Harry felt oddly conflicted by the chill at his back and the warmth of the fire before him. He sat in silence for over an hour, startling even himself when he spoke suddenly once more.

“Am I evil, Dante?”

The pause before he was answered was long, but that wasn’t odd for Dante. Harry tried not to fidget as he waited.

Finally, he heard the vampire set aside his quill. “What is evil?” It wasn’t said with any attempt at sagaciousness or gravity, just stated blandly as the question it was. “Who defines what it means to be good or evil, right or wrong? Only your heart can tell you if you are on the correct path, Mylläkkä. No other’s opinion matters but what your own self tells you. Do you believe you are evil?”

Harry grimaced, regretting asking the question but knowing he’d never be comfortable discussing this with anyone else, not even Valerian. He knew Dante would not judge him, and in fact it was situations like this where Harry appreciated the blond’s lack of visible emotiveness most of all. “No, I don’t think so. But I killed dozens of people just day before last, joyfully. I was—I was thrilled by the battle, by the defeat of my enemies. Looking back, I think I should feel badly, but I don’t.”

“No one may tell you how you should feel. You are letting the morality of society dictate how you should think.”

Harry scoffed and rotated a bit in his chair, flopping across it more like he usually did at Voldemort’s. “That’s bollocks. There are lines that aren’t just groupthink. Mass murder is usually one of them.”

“Is it mass murder if you defeat your opponents in battle?”

“When they were so obviously outclassed? Yes.”

Dante set the papers aside finally, steepling his fingers and peering at Harry intently. In the firelight, his blond hair was lit red and gold like flames themselves. “You are a vampire now, Mylläkkä. A predator. Yet you still rarely kill your prey because you know it is unnecessary. You could slay near any wizard who opposed you, yet you wait to meet them on the battlefield. You still take the feelings and thoughts of others into consideration, even those of the children who you know would oppose you as you are now. You have convinced your Voldemort that mindless massacres were harmful to your cause and that the slaughter of those born to the non-magical is senseless. You may have bloodier means than you once did, but your goal is the improvement of life for the people of this society. Do you think you are evil?”

Harry looked away and closed his eyes, unable to speak past the lump in his throat.

He was stepping out of his trousers, deep in the Forbidden Forest beyond the wards, when the owl found him.

“No, shoo! Bad owl! I am not—stop that, you ruddy thing! Oww! No, I haven’t got sleeves, don’t you dare—“

He managed to take the letter and get it to leave him the hell alone soon after, though it seemed to take vindictive pleasure in the deep gashes it left behind on his bare arm once it realized he had nothing to give it for a treat. Harry hissed obscenities as he pulled out his Reversion potion and curled in on himself through the pain, a muffled scream leaving him as his form elongated and thickened. He’d taken it too many times in quick succession lately, and his body was letting him know it wanted a break. He panted as he recovered, sweat gathered at his brow and hands shaking.

He’d crumbled the letter quite thoroughly, he realized as he stood once more. He quickly redressed and pulled his fine cloak around his shoulders, picked up his school things, invisibility cloak, and broom to shrink away in his pouch. Only once he was ready to Apparate did he smooth and unfold the surprise letter, his wand lit to read it more clearly. The waning gibbous moon was still bright in the sky, but the canopy was thick and the shadows long this deep in the forest, and even with improved vision he could not make out ink on parchment without the help.

Foolishly, he felt his breath catch when he realized who the letter was from. He felt stupid for it and even more so once he’d read the letter and understood it. He pursed his lips and mechanically stuffed the letter away into his pocket, hands unwillingly clenched and jaw tight.

It had been foolish to think there would be any other response, really, to his letter back in August. He’d been high on setting his plans in motion, on the calm before the storm, on the anticipation of being so close to finally acting that he’d been cocky. Since returning to Hogwarts and being reminded of the gulf between himself and those he’d once cherished above his own life, he’d grown a bit more sensible.

Had he considered the possible reply, had he remembered he was awaiting it, he would have expected it to be something like this. He’d known he had few options when it came to Remus; the werewolf would know him for who and what he was instantly if they met, in any form, so he had to be taken care of one way or another. Really, the response was mild compared to what it could have been. But some part of him, so childish and Gryffindor, had apparently been hoping for better.

Voldemort was right. What a sentimental fool he was.

 

 

>    Dear Harry,
> 
> Hello there, pup. I was glad to get your letter; I had thought that after June you wouldn’t want to talk to me any time soon. I know I should have been there for you rather than running away. It was selfish of me. I don’t blame you for what happened to Sirius, and he wouldn’t want us to mourn him. But despite all that, I just wasn’t strong enough to face you, not so soon after knowing I had lost my last, greatest friend. It made hearing from you all the better, though, that it was unexpected. I appreciate that you thought of me, and I’m grateful for the smile your letter gave me, fleeting though it was.
> 
> I’m doing work for the Old Crowd currently with several scattered werewolf packs. I can’t tell you where for safety’s sake, of course. I am not really optimistic about the prospects of this working as Dumbledore had hoped, but it is almost… soothing here. For all that I can’t understand the acceptance so many of these people have with their own ‘furry little problems’, there is a tranquility and simplicity to their lifestyle that I am almost jealous of. Too, I am able to teach the youngest many things they might not have learned otherwise, so I suppose this trip has some use even if not for the war effort.
> 
> I’m thinking I should stop stalling now, though. There’s a lot about your letter that I don’t think I understand. That I don’t think I _want_ to understand, frankly. You were ambiguous and vague, but I can read between the lines as I’m sure you intended me to. But I am refusing to dig too deeply into what you might have meant; the less I know, the less I will have to pass on.
> 
> I won’t tell anyone about this letter. But please, I beg you not to send another like it. I won’t have a choice if you do. I love you; for all that I missed your childhood, you are the closest to a child I ever had. I don’t want to have to be the cause of anything happening to you, but my conscience won’t let me pretend another letter doesn’t say what I fear this one does.
> 
> It is better this way. Be safe, Harry, and please think carefully about what you’re doing.
> 
>    Moony
> 
> PS: Know that, no matter what choices you make, no matter what you do with your life… so long as you are doing what you think is right, your parents would be proud of you. I wanted you to know that, if nothing else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1: Portmanteau of _marmor_ for marble and _fingo_ for pretend/pose.


	15. Liberosis // the desire to care less about things

Harry slid around a group of Death Eaters that seemed to be treating their time in Voldemort’s manor as a social event, sneering within the shadow of his hood at them as they chattered and laughed. Normally he moved about the manor freely and enjoyed the way that people would shy away when he neared; their fear of him was terribly amusing. But his current mood was black and he wasn’t much tolerant of the usual obsequious nonsense that came from being recognized, so he took advantage of being one of a dozen black-cloaked figures that wandered the manor and made his way to the stairs.

Voldemort sat waiting for him, eyes already on the door with a disturbing grin stretching his face once Harry pushed it open. “Took you long enough, Potter.”

Harry pulled back his hood and pasted on a smile, sliding into his usual seat and trying to summon his trademark irreverence. “Ah, darling, it gives me such joy that you miss me when I’m away.”

Voldemort scowled and rolled his eyes. “Pest. Now tell me how your end of the Halloween spectacle went; I assume Dumbledore is hushing it up since I didn’t see a peep in the papers.”

“Mmm,” Harry agreed, relaxing back a bit and trying to shove his conflicted emotions away. Things with Voldemort were easy like this, though, with the familiar banter flying between them. “I assume you’d have no problem with me sending a tip to the Prophet about the incident? I didn’t want to do it before I’d checked with you, but I’ve been working under the assumption that you’d think the idea a good one, too. I have a note ready to send to Rita if you agree.”

“Of course. The murder of a staff member under his crooked nose and the corpse’s display in front of the children is bad enough, but Dumbledore’s walked into our hands by trying to hide it. It will just open up more questions about what else he’s hiding once the other articles begin being printed.” Voldemort sat back in his chair and once again flashed the sharp, wicked grin he’d worn when Harry’d arrived. “Now quit stalling and tell me how it went. Were there complications?”

“None. Do you have a Pensieve?” Harry tried to summon up the giddy joy he’d felt at the idea previously, smirking at the Dark Lord. “I think watching would be best. You’ll be as amused by Dumbledore’s panicked face as I was.”

“You could just let me inside you to see; it would be more efficient than tracking down and manually moving a Pensieve. You know they don’t respond well to relocation magic.”

He hadn’t known that, actually. He felt his smirk slip but forced it back on and slouched. “Sorry, no can do. Vampirism complicates Legilimency so you won’t get more than the gist of things.”

Voldemort’s smile dropped and his eyes narrowed. “What’s wrong with you, Potter?”

Hairs prickled on the back of Harry’s neck as he fought to keep eye contact. “Don’t know what you mean, Tom.”

The gaze was piercing him now, Voldemort’s posture straightening as he kept his intense focus up. “No jokes? I don’t think I’ve seen you pass up such a wide open chance for innuendo in the entirety of our acquaintance.” Crimson eyes flicked across his face, down his front and back again to narrow furiously when Harry avoided looking directly into them once more. “What are you hiding?” he hissed.

Harry bristled and frowned, looking at Voldemort’s strange, misshapen ear rather than his expression. “Nothing for you to worry about.”

The silence following was long and tense; Harry felt himself hunch under the weight of Voldemort’s sharp gaze.

“I will return with a Pensieve momentarily.”

The concession shocked Harry into looking up once more, green eyes wide as Voldemort frowned at him for another moment before sweeping from the room. Harry swiped his hands over his face and mocked himself under his breath for his stupid softheartedness. Why did he care about _Remus Lupin_ enough to feel so effected? He hardly knew the man. He’d spent some time with him when he was thirteen learning the Patronus, but even that had been without knowing who the werewolf was to him, so their conversations had been strictly as professor and student. Since that year, he’d only had passing conversations with him, occasional group meetings where Remus was present, and that one Christmas at Grimmauld place where Sirius and Remus had hovered around the periphery of him as he’d moped about Arthur Weasley’s hospitalization.

If he forced himself to step back from the situation, he knew very well that Remus wasn’t really anything but his dead parents’ friend. Sirus’s friend. A link to Harry’s long-dead family, perhaps, but nothing particularly tied to Harry himself. He knew little about him but that he was a werewolf who couldn’t accept himself, enjoyed chocolate and teaching, and had been a hypocritical coward when he was a teenager who’d let his friends run roughshod over his integrity.

His heart didn’t seem to care for all that, though. While not as strongly, he’d seen Remus much as he had Sirius: as family. One of the few adults he’d ever met that had cared for him as a human being and not just for what he might do for them.

Voldemort returned before Harry could shake himself out of his contemplation, but he forcibly shoved his conflicted feelings into the back of his mind and tried to focus on the now. Remus didn’t matter, the past didn’t matter. The war effort did, though, and it wouldn’t do for Voldemort to start thinking Harry was hiding something of any importance from him. Merlin forbid the man think Harry was betraying him somehow; he didn’t think either of them would survive the fallout if he believed that strongly enough.

Voldemort’s Pensieve was smaller than Dumbledore’s, barely large enough for a face to make contact with its contents, though it was similarly ornate. It was done in some sort of marbled, green stone – Harry was unsurprised by the color – that shone and glittered faintly. It was empty when Voldemort rather roughly dropped the basin on his desk, but Harry hadn’t expected anything else. Voldemort was not the sort to reminisce on time’s past without reason, so he likely used the Pensieve only to view important things then slid the memories back into place again.

Harry didn’t wait to be instructed, instead took out his wand – his Holly wand this time, as it connected much better with him – and concentrated on the memory starting when Dumbledore had risen to speak. After a moment he extracted the silvery strand and directed it into the bowl, waving a hand. “There you are.”

“You’re coming with me,” Voldemort said with an irritated moue, gripping Harry by the shoulder and pulling him up despite his squawked protest. “You will be needed to answer questions.”

“I don’t think there will be any,” Harry said wryly. “You were the one that recorded the Projection, after all, and helped me write it in the first place. All this is for is to watch how Dumbledore reacts and be amused.”

“Regardless.” Harry raised a brow at the way Voldemort was avoiding _his_ eyes now as spindly fingers were used to gesture to the Pensieve. “In, Potter.”

Harry sighed and dipped his face into his own memory, ignoring the swoop in his belly of falling as he found himself once more in the Great Hall with Voldemort beside him, standing in the middle aisle between the house tables with the chatter of hundreds of students droning around them.

Harry glanced over to see Voldemort casting a long, scanning look around the room, his expression strange. Harry thought he understood. Hogwarts had been as much home to Voldemort when he was young as it had been to Harry. Though Voldemort had been somewhat there just a few years prior while attached to Quirrell, the feeling of coming home never really went away. Ten years in Sceaduwe before returning had taught him that.

Dumbledore rose and their attention faced forward to enjoy the spectacle. Voldemort cackled several times in the ensuing minutes, striding closer to watch Dumbledore’s expressions once he was frozen staring at Harry’s Projection. Once they were returned to the physical world, Voldemort leaned against his desk with an even smugger smirk than he usually wore, arms crossed. “The old goat was furious.”

“Of course he was,” Harry scoffed, sitting back in his own chair. “All these years of carefully keeping the prophecy hidden, and now not only do _you_ know it, but the entire population of Hogwarts. He hates when things are out of his control, so of course he’s gone spare over the whole display.”

“And soon all the Wizarding world will know it, know that you of all people are expected to defeat me.”

Harry stuck out his tongue, turning away with a harrumph. “I could have done it. Or, well, I would have been the winner, at least. I think you’d likely have been your own downfall. Like I’ve mentioned, you were utterly nutters last year. You didn’t seem to even have the concept of cunning when it came to me.”

Voldemort grimaced and scowled down at him. “It was out of my control. But I refuse to believe I would have fallen at the hands of the hopeless brat you were.”

“Ever going to tell me how this amazing turnaround came about? You keep changing the subject when I bring it up, but I’m not an idiot, Tom.”

Irritation made Voldemort’s magic spark and sizzle around him, but it didn’t morph into true rage. “Perhaps I shall, someday.”

“Someday, hmm?” Harry said with a raised brow. “I’m sure it isn’t important at all, that nothing relating to your miraculous return to sanity could possibly backfire on our efforts because I am ignorant. Or, even better, I’m sure your sanity won’t ever suddenly deteriorate with no way for me to help you since I know _nothing_.”

The irritation spiked but leveled quickly, though the silence was heavy. It stretched on so long that Harry was nearly ready to give up and change the subject, but he found himself shocked into stillness when Voldemort closed his eyes and sighed. “There were unexpected side effects to one of the rituals I have used several times over the years. I was not aware of the degradation of my mind until I came back in contact with an item I had enchanted many years ago.” Voldemort wasn’t meeting his eyes, but he held up a hand and pointed to a bare finger. “So long as the ring I wear concealed here stays in contact with me, there should be no sudden backslide.”

Harry tried to ignore the warmth that had bloomed through him once he’d realized that Voldemort was telling him something sincerely important, something he doubted he’d ever tell another soul. It was hard to push the giddy satisfaction aside, however. He was glad Voldemort wasn’t looking at him, as he had to struggle not to smile like an idiot. “And if the ring is ever stolen or damaged?”

Voldemort shook his head. “Impossible, as I never remove it and no one else could be aware it is even there.”

“Something could damage you, though, or your hand at least. Even if the ring stayed intact, which isn’t guaranteed, it could be removed by that physical damage.”

“That is a slim possibility.”

“But it’s still a possibility,” Harry said with a raised brow. “It isn’t like you to leave something like that to chance. Can you reverse whatever ritual you did so that you aren’t relying on a physical object?”

“Not as of yet. There are… several similar objects. I would need to collect them all to me, but that would take some time.”

“Several? That somehow, without, you are less sane?” Harry’s brows climbed his forehead, his eyes wide. “And you’re just ignoring the fact that you could possibly still be more damaged than you anticipate without them, since you’ve already said that however you made them did something to you that you didn’t realize for years?”

Voldemort snarled then, crimson eyes glowing with his sudden rage as he took a step closer and loomed over where Harry was seated. “Enough, Potter. You know nothing of which you speak.”

“Somehow, I understand your temper a bit better all of a sudden,” he snarked, leaning back and scowling. “Who knows, maybe if you go get them all back together you’ll actually be less of a git. Wouldn’t that be a miracle?”

“This subject is closed,” Voldemort hissed, spinning and making his way around the desk to sit once more. “We need to discuss our next move now that Dumbledore is assuredly aware of a new enemy. We will not have long to act without his anticipating it. And do not forget that you need to be sure you are fully prepared for the upcoming summit the weekend after next; I will not have you making a fool of me in front of prospective allies. If you act as you usually do in front of others, Potter, I will—“

Harry sighed but was internally still reeling at the idea that Voldemort had given him so much information, especially the sort of sensitive of information that it appeared to be. He was much more forgiving of Voldemort’s usual moods in light of this, hiding a smile and summoning a quill and blank parchment.

Hours later, Harry’s previous melancholy returned with the silence of the early morning, leaving him once more glancing out the window in Voldemort’s office more than he worked. He was meant to be re-penning the letter to Rita Skeeter with Voldemort’s adjustments to the message in mind, but he’d hardly written the salutation before being distracted with the turmoil in his mind.

He shook himself to stop from dwelling on Remus and his friends and the future of all the relationships he’d had before and forced himself to concentrate on the letter, explaining that Dumbledore was keeping a murder from the authorities and public. More so – gasp, shock, oh my! – there had been a message from the partner to the Dark Lord included with the mutilated body that revealed a prophecy made many years ago that foretold the possible downfall of Voldemort himself.

He wrote the prophecy easily from memory, staring down at the text again after with pursed lips. The prophecy had been, quite literally, the epicenter and root of all the major events of his life. Without it, who would he be? What would the Wizarding world look like?

“Hey, Tom?”

They hadn’t spoken since they had agreed on their next actions, and Voldemort had been tight-lipped on anything but business, still irritated after their previous discussion. But at Harry’s prompting, his quill stilled and a flash of crimson told him that Voldemort had glanced his way.

He tipped his head to the side and ran his fingers through his hair, fiddling with the ends as he looked out the window to the night sky once more. “I’ve always wondered something, even back when I was actually the naïve little chit that everyone thinks I still am. The whole world is convinced we’re mortal enemies, that because of the rebounded Killing Curse when I was a baby I’m somehow the only person who could stop you. Even without knowing about the prophecy they managed to get into their heads that I was some kind of savior, the one and only person who could save them.”

“They’re more sheep than people,” Voldemort said with a sneer. “And for that matter, they were desperate for someone _else_ to be the one to actually need to act.”

Harry shook his head. “No, I know. But, to be fair, even you fell into that trap of thinking I was somehow _the one_. But see, do you remember the graveyard? What happened the one time you and I actually fought one on one?” Harry waited for Voldemort to nod, his expression clearly stating his impatience. “If the prophecy really was meant to pit us against one another, why do we have wands that can’t fight each other?”

Voldemort looked up more fully, head cocked. “We can’t say for sure what caused the phenomenon—“

“Actually, no, I know what caused it. My wand is the brother to yours.”

Voldemort’s brow lifted, jaw a bit slack. “Paired wands? Truly?”

He hummed and nodded, pulling his Holly wand from up his sleeve. “Yeah. Holly instead of your yew, but we both have one of Fawkes’s tail feathers. He only gave two and gave them both at the same time.” Harry shrugged. “I know it isn’t the _rarest_ thing, but it isn’t common either. But anyway, if we were meant to be great enemies, why would we be drawn to wands that made us unable to fight?”

“That it interesting,” Voldemort said in a low voice, eyes cutting away to look somewhere over Harry’s shoulder. “I always assumed you were reaching a bit when you interpreted the prophecy as anything other than that we were meant to be on opposing sides, but this makes me rethink that. I still think it is optimistic to twist it around as you do, making the meaning out to be that without one another’s happiness we cannot live full lives, but with the idea of our wands being linked I think I’m more amiable to your ideas about you merely having been prophesied to have the capability to be my end, that your power was to be on par with my own.”

His decisive lack of using the word ‘equals’ nearly made Harry smirk; Voldemort could be quite predictable.

“Why are you thinking of this?”

Harry looked away again and shrugged. “No reason, really. Just something that occurred to me while I was watching the Projection. Everyone accepts so easily that ‘the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord’ means I’m to be your greatest enemy. Prophecies are notoriously tricky; I’m surprised Dumbledore was so willing to overlook other connotations.”

Voldemort scoffed. “He almost surely thought of the alternatives but decided this to be the optimal one. Remember, he raised you in an environment meant to make you into a very certain sort of child. He wanted you malleable, grateful, and willing to do anything he asked of you with minimal questions. He probably saw the other possible interpretations and it only fueled his need to control your life and make sure you turned out just as he needed you to.”

He scowled, conceding that to be the likely truth.

“Are you ready to tell me why you’ve been in such a strop all evening yet, Potter?”

Harry looked up, his scowl still in place, only to falter at the intent, calm look Voldemort was giving him. Really, like he’d thought earlier, he shouldn’t give Voldemort a reason to think he was anything but honest and open with him, no matter that the favor was not returned. He was too paranoid of a man to accept anything less from Harry. It wasn’t fair, but Harry wasn’t as bothered by it as he should be. He… he didn’t want to lose the relationship he had with Voldemort more than he cared about what the man kept from him. That probably wasn’t the smartest thing, but he was still stunned on a daily basis to realize he was something like friends with the Dark Lord, of all people. Likely the only thing close to a friend Voldemort even _had._

He cringed as he realized he’d already decided to tell him. Rolling his holly wand between his fingers, he waited for the judgment sure to come. “It isn’t anything important. I got a letter a few minutes before I got here from the last living friend of my parents – ignoring Wormtail, obviously. He’s a werewolf, so I knew I needed to feel out how much of a problem he’d be so I could preplan. If he sees me, he’ll know I’m a vampire. Even if he just sees Mylläkkä on the battlefield, he’ll know I’m Harry Potter and could blow my cover sky high.”

“I assume his letter was displeasing?” Voldemort’s face was almost bored and his hands were laced together under his chin, his posture lax. But Harry could tell that something about the conversation interested him, even if only because they were still having it.

“Mmm, I didn’t really expect anything different. He’s Dumbledore’s man through and through, I knew that. He hates that he’s a so-called Dark creature, was a Gryffindor and early Order member. I didn’t really think he’d jump ship and sign up for one of your tattoos.”

“But you hoped he’d at least concede to stay out of it.”

Harry flinched as if struck, biting his lower lip between his teeth. That was likely the crux of things, yes. For all Remus should mean nothing to him, for all that he knew intellectually that it shouldn’t matter, he’d still hoped that he was loved enough for Remus to at least not actively fight against him.

His silence was obviously telling, as Voldemort cleared his throat a bit uncomfortably. “If he will not stand by your side, he is likely not worthy of living on anyway. Any who are at all worth swaying to our cause will treasure your regard as they ought.”

It was awkward and vicious, but Harry thought that was just about the sweetest thing Voldemort had ever said to him. He felt a smile overtaking his mouth and glanced up through his lashes, seeing Voldemort hunched with a grimace overtaking his features. Part of him wanted to tease and prod at Voldemort for even trying to be a comfort, but the rest of him felt the idea that Voldemort saw his regard as something to be treasured like a punch to the diaphragm. He looked away instead, smiling helplessly. “Thanks, Tom.”

There was no reply, but Harry held the moment close to him nonetheless.

The castle held a mournful air, the students somber and quiet as they ate their breakfast. Harry was caught between sneering and laughing, barely able to stop himself from making a snide remark. Trelawney had been a joke who had the respect of none but the smallest handful of students, but now they all acted as if their best friend had died. He hunched over his chipolata and kept his face tilted down to hide his expression as the owls flooded in overhead.

He heard the gasps start at the Ravenclaw table, but soon enough the susurrus of muttering had filled the Great Hall to a dull roar. Across from him, Hermione sucked in a sharp breath. “Professor Trelawney’s death has made it to the papers,” she said in a dark voice.

“Bet it was one of the slimy snakes,” Ron snarled, stabbing at his breakfast. “A certain someone probably sent an owl to his daddy the moment he got back to the common room, though I’m sure the git already knew.”

Harry couldn’t help himself from responding. “I don’t see why they tried to keep it a secret in the first place. I mean, shouldn’t the Aurors have been called at the very least?”

Hermione blinked at him, her face reflecting shock. Ron, on the other hand, scowled at him. “What are they gonna do, go catch the killer? They can’t even get the Death Eaters, how are they gonna get another Dark Lord?”

It was a good point, but Harry shook his head. To his surprise, Hermione beat him to it. “No, Harry’s right. It was a murder, Ron, it should have been reported to the authorities. What about her family? They deserve to find out what happened to her.”

“What’ll that change?” he said under his breath as they stood and began making their way out of the hall towards the stairs to the dungeons. “Dead’s dead. And I still say it was Pierce that did it.”

Hermione scoffed and Harry rolled his eyes. They’d heard this so-called theory several times over the weekend. “It clearly wasn’t Professor Pierce, Ron. The person was smaller than he is, obviously, and had much longer hair.”

“Few charms could do that,” Ron shot back.

“And the voice? Professor Pierce has a very distinctive accent.”

“Who says the one in from the orb was even the one who killed her? Coulda just been the one to give the message while a Death Eater did the killing.”

That was actually a half-logical response. He must have been thinking about it deeply. Harry sighed and hiked his bag up as they reached the bottom of the stairs and began making their way through the maze of corridors towards the Potions classroom. “Don’t you think Dumbledore would have done something already if it really was him though?”

Ron’s voice was more sarcastic than Harry’d ever heard it. “Oh yeah, coz Dumbledore is so good at noticing things happening right under his nose. He’s let Snape teach here for years. Moody wasn’t even actually Moody. Lockhart was a total fraud. Quirrell had You-Know-Who _on the back of his head_. Why would he notice something else wrong? The old man has obviously gone barmy in his old age and probably just missed letting in another evil git. The guy’s our Defense professor, you know they always end up trying to kill us one way or another.”

Harry missed a step and nearly tripped into a wall at the doubt in Dumbledore’s abilities. That was… unexpected. He was glad to see that the redhead had gotten some perspective over the years and noticed that Dumbledore was very, very fallible.

Hermione on the other hand had not. “That’s Professor Dumbledore, Ronald! He is our Headmaster and one of the most esteemed men in the entire Wizarding world, show some respect!”

“Maybe I will once he stops hiring people who want Harry dead.”

She spun on her heel and started walking more quickly, ducking behind a tapestry into a shortcut they often used to avoid Slytherins when going to and from the Potions classroom. They scrambled to follow as she strode on, obviously in a huff. “Enough. It isn’t possible for Professor Pierce to have killed Professor Trelawney, Ronald, you’re just going to have to accept that.”

“And just how do you figure that? Coz Dumbledore said so?” Ron mocked.

“Because he’s obviously a vampire.”

Harry did trip this time and Ron did with him, both of them freezing and staring ahead at her in shock. She stopped and turned with a patronizing, smug expression.

“W-What?!” Ron shouted. Harry was glad they’d never seen anyone else find this shortcut, as Ron’s volume would have called people’s attention to them for sure. He regained his senses quickly and shot a spell to create a bubble of silence around them anyway just in case, face grim as he watched them both for reactions.

Hermione sighed, pushing her unruly curls over her shoulder and planting her hands on her hips. “Really, you two! You pay so little attention that I wonder how you've both survived this long! He has an aversion to sunlight, his grace and speed are obviously preternatural, his speech patterns are often bordering on archaic, he never eats when he's in the Great Hall, his pupils are _slitted_ … how much more proof do you need?”

Harry should have known that she’d notice. Hadn’t he always said that, if he was going to be figured out, it would be Hermione to do it? She was frighteningly observant and though she often leapt to conclusions, they were generally well-reasoned and well-researched conclusions that had enough basis in logic and fact that she was almost always right. It wasn’t a terrible thing, really, in this case. They had never intended to keep Dante’s vampirism secret for very long, just long enough for students to have proof that he was in control and a good teacher before they found out. They’d even specifically intended to let the fact slip in the next week or two just to put off any possible suspicions from others about whether or not he’d been the killer. But that Hermione had noticed so quickly and so apparently easily made his gut churn with disquiet. He’d need to start being more careful around her for sure.

“Just how does that make it _less_ likely that he’d be a murderer? What in the world do you think vampires are?”

Harry tamped down a flinch and waited for her reasoning. He assumed she’d noticed what they’d wanted people to notice, the whole reason he’d cut her up and used her blood as he had.

“Ronald, how could you? Don’t you dare judge an entire people on whatever you have inside your head right now! Didn’t you learn better after Professor Lupin?” She huffed and crossed her arms tightly under her breasts, agitation making her visibly vibrate. “He’s obviously on Blood Substitution potions, or else Professor Dumbledore wouldn’t let him teach here. It’s been two months since the start of term; do you know what those potions do to vampires’ instincts? With all the blood that would have had to be around her as she died, he’d have been completely unable to control himself from biting her if he stayed anywhere nearby. So since whoever killed her both did not bite her and was able to continue interacting with her blood, it could not have been Professor Pierce. I am sure that a simple medical scan would be able to confirm he has ingested no human blood in at least the last two months; he isn’t sallow enough to be a proper vegetarian vampire, but he’s obviously not some indiscriminate killer either.”

Harry felt his respect for Hermione, already high, rise. He was impressed by her reasoning and the maturity with which she, as usual, handled shocking revelations. The latter was more likely due to her muggle upbringing and lack of ingrained biases, really, but he felt warm and pleased nonetheless.

“Right, then. We’ll just have to try and find out more about who _did_ do it, then, if it wasn’t Pierce.”

“Professor Pierce, Harry.”

“Are you guys kidding me?!” Ron yelped, his face nearly as red as his hair as he finally exploded. “Why are you pretending there’s nothing wrong here? There is a vampire teaching in our school! We’re lucky we’re not all dead yet!” His furious flush drained away to leave him looking wan and pale, his freckles standing out starkly. “Oh Merlin, we’ll all be killed. A bloody vampire in the school, this is the worst—“

Hermione puffed up predictably, her jaw clenching and her mouth pursing tight in fury. “Ronald Bilius Weasley, how dare you?! He has been our Professor for two months with nothing happening! You are being a thoughtless bigot _yet again_. I thought you were finally growing up this last year, but obviously not! Do you learn nothing from your experiences? You thought all werewolves were vicious beasts before you met Professor Lupin and were proven wrong then; are you blind to how you’re doing the same thing all over again?”

Harry sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, refusing to let Ron’s words bother him. Really, it could have been much worse. Ron could have found out that his best friend was a vampire, for instance, and really blown his lid.

“Do you hear this, mate?” Ron was suddenly turning to him, waving his arms frantically. “You’re not buying this rubbish, are you?” He pitched his voice high and shrill into a mockery of Hermione’s. “Honestly, Ronald, vampires are just like puppies! They only want to cuddle and play! They like rainbows and hugs and bearbees1 and would never, ever hurt anyone at all!”

Hermione’s face transformed into a snarl, but Harry responded before she could truly lose her temper. “You’re kind of being an arse, Ron. You might want to stuff it before Hermione actually kills you.”

“You are buying it! Blimey, Harry, I know being raised muggle makes you a bit daft on these things, but I thought you, at least, had some sense! You’re both completely ‘round the bend if you think we’re just going to be fine with a vampire running around in the place we live!”

The sudden toll of bells in the distance made all four look up at the ceiling. Hermione went pale. “And now we’re late to Potions! See what you’ve done?!”

Harry walked past them with a flat expression, refusing to meet Ron’s eyes when the boy looked pleadingly at him. It didn’t… well, it hurt, if he was being honest, but it wasn’t as bad as it could have been. He’d need to get used to feeling like this anyway. It would only get worse when who _he_ was came out, after all.

“Get out. Mister Potter, stay behind,” Snape drawled. Harry made a show of petulance and affront, waving Hermione away when she glanced back at him and ignoring Ron entirely. The classroom emptied quickly, Draco daring to sneer haughtily at him just before Snape spelled the door to slam. He couldn’t help but snicker as he heard the blond yelp from through the door.

Snape cast a silencing spell quickly and leaned back, dark eyes narrow and mouth set grimly. “I was not informed of either of your plans for Halloween.”

Harry was surprised he was being so forthright, but Snape had always been too free with his tongue around Harry. “No, you were not.”

Snape’s upper lip curled in a sneer as he gestured to his arm. “Is this binding not enough? It is not as if I could betray you if I tried.”

“You could not betray my identity,” Harry corrected, sure Snape knew better and that he wasn’t revealing something the man didn’t know. “You could betray our plans to Dumbledore easily and I wouldn’t put it past you.”

He stood then, hands flat on his desk as he leaned over it to scowl at Harry. “You arrogant little—“

“Watch your mouth, Severus,” Harry purred, pleased when the man’s jaw snapped shut. “Just because Voldemort isn’t here doesn’t mean you’re safe.”

He watched Snape breathe in and out heavily through his nose, obviously trying to regain his composure. His voice was strained when he spoke. “My lord, I wish to at least be kept informed of things within the castle. I would not betray the Dark, not now that my reason for spying is for naught. I made an oath to protect you in whatever way I could, but even without that—“ He broke off and looked away, his nostrils flaring. “You need not be concerned about my allegiances. I failed Lily too many times to fail this last task.”

Harry longed to ask about his mother, to understand this bond she apparently had with Snape of all people. But now was not the time. “Oh? Not even if you thought you were doing what was best for me? Sorry, Snape. I don’t trust you in the slightest. You’re alive because, for some reason, Voldemort considers you more of an asset than a hindrance. But you haven’t proven yourself to be anything but a bitter old git to me.”

Rage suffused Snape’s features, but he miraculously controlled his tongue. Instead, after a long frozen moment, he opened a drawer in his desk with a whisper and pulled out a scroll which he sent levitating to Harry. “This is a list of students fifth through seventh year that I am nearly sure would be amenable to our cause. There is a second subset of those I feel very likely to be, as well. Depending on what you wish from the students, I felt it prudent to separate the two.”

It was meticulous, the students color-coded by house and in order by year. It was a surprisingly long list, given the overall Light nature of the school, and there were many non-Slytherins on it. Only one Gryffindor, though. His brow rose nearly to his hairline at that one name, though. “Parvati?” A quick glance found him her sister as well. “Why do you think the Patil twins would want to be Death Eaters?”

“I do not know the details, but something happened this past summer which has more than just soured them against the Light and the Ministry. The Ravenclaw sister, Padma, has even been feeling out Slytherins trying to find a way to the Dark Lord after the year is over.”

He hummed and sent the scroll floating back. “Very good. Closer to Yule, I am going to have you send out a note to all the students on the list to have them gather in the Room of Requirement. I just need to finish the spell that Dante and I have been making to ensure secrecy before we can do it.”

Snape nodded, eyes still somewhere to Harry’s left rather than on him directly. “Anything else, my lord?” His bitterness was apparent in every word.

“No. I will let you know soon what else I need you to do.” Harry rose and gathered his things, swinging his bag up and over his shoulder as he made his way to the door. Just before he opened it, he glanced back and managed to make eye contact with Snape. “Prove you’re worth more than just keeping alive and you might actually get to know more. Tom’s reasons for your life will run out after this year, after all, so the clock is ticking, Severus.”

With his still being chilly towards Ron and Hermione still narked off, the days seemed to drag on even longer than usual. Harry pushed a piece of roast around his mash, watching the gravy part in a channel before filling in again. The Great Hall was back to its usual boisterousness during mealtime – it seemed it only took a week for everyone’s spirits to go right back to normal after witnessing the brutally mutilated corpse of one of their professors – but their own little chunk of the Gryffindor table was abnormally quiet, the mood of the so-called Golden Trio effecting everyone around them.

“I can’t believe Mum thinks I’m still too young for a boyfriend,” Ginny was saying, gamely trying to ignore the atmosphere. “I’m fifteen, loads of people date way younger than me. If Ron would stop grassing on me maybe I could manage to _keep a boyfriend_ ,” she said with a snarl directed in her brother’s direction.

Ron looked away from where he’d been shoving bites of his Cornish pasty into his mouth so fast that Harry wondered if he just downed his food whole like a duck. He took a moment to swallow and pointed his fork across the table. “You’re just a kid; you don’t need to be going around snogging Michael Corner in dark hallways!”

“I’m not a kid, Ron!” Her face was flushing splotchily now, and Harry ignored the way she kept glancing at him from the corner of her eye. “And me and Michael are through anyway. But just because you keep bottling out of asking Lavender to Hogsmeade – not that she’d go out with you anyway—“

“Oi!” Ron exclaimed around another bite he’d stuffed in his mouth. Harry cringed and looked away.

“—doesn’t mean you have to be a snitch and keep telling Mum that I’ve been seeing boys!”

“I’m just being a good brother!”

“A good brother would let me make my own choices,” Ginny hissed, stabbing at a sausage hard enough that the tines of her fork scraped across the plate in a loud screech. “I thought with Fred and George gone that I might actually get a chance to make some friends without constant interference from overprotective jerks!”

Harry sighed and gave up on the race he was conducting and stood to shoulder his bag. Ron turned panicked eyes to him. “Mate, c’mon, help me out here!”

“Sorry, it isn’t like I have experience with siblings,” Harry said dryly, amused when both of them flinched. “But really, Corner is quite fit. Can see why she’d go for it.”

Ginny squeaked and went pale, her expression horrified. Hermione looked up from her book with wide eyes. And Ron actually dropped his fork and started choking, pounding himself in the chest as he gasped for air. In response, Harry just grinned at them all with complete nonchalance. “I’m off to the library for a bit. See you all back in the common room.”

He couldn’t help laughing as he walked away, feeling their eyes on him still. Well, hopefully that would nip Ginny’s resurging crush in the bud at least a bit.

He was nearly to the library when running footsteps behind him called his attention. He turned a bit warily, ready to let his wand drop into his hand if need be. It was more likely to just be someone who had forgotten an assignment until the last minute, but he couldn’t convince his mind to ignore danger signs even in Hogwarts.

Really, he should have expected it to be Hermione. Her frizzy curls were streaming behind her as she rounded the corner, pausing slightly as she saw him standing there before jogging to his side. She was flushed and out of breath, but she sucked in a few deep lungfuls before forcing herself straight and putting her hands on her hips. “Harry James Potter, that was the rudest way to come out to your friends I can even imagine!”

Harry laughed. He couldn’t help it. She looked so indignant, mouth screwed up and chin tilted haughtily. He laughed harder than he could recall doing in months, leaning his hands on his knees for support as he wheezed and tried to get himself under control. “S-Sorry ‘Mione. I didn’t really consider it all that big of a deal.”

She eyed him narrowly. “Well, good. You shouldn’t. It is perfectly acceptable for you to love whomever you please – but you still could have let us know with a bit more tact or warning, you know!”

He shrugged and grinned. “Sorry, sorry.”

“I—“ She paused and pursed her lips. “I think Ginny’s a bit upset, to warn you.”

“Ah, yeah,” he said with a grimace. “I noticed that she’s been a bit more ‘Old Ginny’ this year and acting skittish around me. I’ve been trying to put her off nicely, but it hasn’t seemed to be working. Figured making her think I was bent might help her see that I’m not a romantic option.”

“Making her _think_?” Hermione said dangerously.

“Well, I mean, I am. Bent, that is. But only somewhat.” He grinned and gave her a wink as he turned and started walking back to the library. “I still like girls, I just kind of like men better.”

“Men, hmm?” Hermione said archly. “That seems a telling word choice when juxtaposed with ‘girls’.”

He couldn’t help the fond warmth that coursed through him at how casually she treated this; if he’d worried even a bit, it was over her reaction. She came from the Muggle world, after all, and their biases were much more pronounced about sexuality than the Wizarding world’s were. It was merely seen as distasteful to the oldest pureblood families, only actively abhorrent if one’s sexuality made them abdicate their familial duties. Otherwise, it seemed barely a thought to most wizards, even if their society was just as likely to assume everyone was straight as the muggles’ was.

He walked faster to get ahead of her to make sure she couldn’t see his fangs, his smile helplessly wide. “Yeah, well, I don’t think you have any room to talk. Even Viktor was a good few years older than you, and most of your crushes have been on Professors.”

He could hear her embarrassment even if he couldn’t see her cheeks flush. “Well I—so what?! Older men are so much more mature—“

“Mmm, I know. Poise and intelligence are incredibly sexy.”

“Have someone in mind?” she asked slyly, suddenly right at his side again and glancing at him expectantly. “Sounds like you’re picturing someone right now.”

For a moment, his mind turned to his recent imaginings of what would have happened if Voldemort hadn’t ever ritualized himself into the snakey mess he was, the young Tom Riddle promising to grow into a very fine man indeed, but he pushed that thought away forcefully. Instead he glanced up and down the hall to make sure they were alone before leaning close, chuckling. “Ron would blow his lid, but even if he’s an evil berk, Malfoy’s dad is incredibly fit.”

She gasped and stopped in the middle of the hall, eyes wide and stunned, a flush slowly rising in her cheeks once again.

Harry took the chance to dart away with a laugh.

It was like he was an entirely different person.

Harry sat with a bland smile etched across his face, projecting serenity and control as best as he could. This was something his years with Valerian had prepared him for better than most things: diplomacy. He had been drilled for so long on remaining cool and calm in the face of politicians that he didn’t actually have any misgivings about the summit of supporters and potential allies Voldemort had been planning for weeks.

Watching Voldemort proved to be the only issue with his control, though. It was fascinating. Between answering questions posed to him from the various beings around the table, he found himself constantly looking back to his left where Voldemort sat, enraptured.

His chair at the head of the table was better described as a throne, oversized and ornate to ensure no one questioned who the principal power was. He sat straight-backed and his every gesture was regal, commanding; he behaved with the easy, offhand poise and grace of royalty. Currently, his head was tilted and his face had a blasé, indifferent expression while he listened to the representative of a wizard enclave in Ireland argue about the inclusion of Yumboes in the meeting.

“They’re obviously just trumped up House Elves,” the witch said with a sneer, peering over her spectacles at the end of the table where the Yumbo chieftain sat and waving an arm at the Manticore that took up a good portion of the right side of the table. “It’s bad enough that you’ve allowed those beasts to be anything but mounts, but to include actual servants into a war room is ridiculous.”

The Yumbo chieftain’s teeth were bared, its fingers raised and poised to snap as the witch went on blithely. It was only the tone of Voldemort’s voice, Harry thought, that kept zir from acting.

“Madame Alton,” Voldemort said in a smooth purr, eyes heavily lidded. “I am unsure where you got the idea that your feelings on this matter were at all relevant.”

She froze in place and Harry let himself smile sharply at the uptick in her heartbeat. She stared unblinkingly at Voldemort for long moments before straightening, chin trembling. “We are the last of the Druï!2 Our magic is ancient and we have rituals that cannot be replicated with anything—“

Voldemort’s chuckle made Harry shudder pleasantly. “And with the Dark Sect, your enclave will be elevated to the position you deserve in society, no longer cast aside for your adherence to the Olde Ways.” He glanced around the table, crimson eyes bright as he flicked from representative to representative. “You are all here for a common purpose. Every one of you belongs to a people that is being oppressed or exiled by current Wizarding law. Every one of you knows the burn of your ethos being exterminated, of your government trying to smother your way of life.

“The Wizarding world is at an impasse.” Voldemort pushed away from the table and stood, chin lifted as he gazed around the room at the twenty-seven representatives of various groups and races whose homes fell beneath the jurisdiction of the British Ministry for Magic, the dozen of his most trusted Death Eaters he had allowed to attend that stood along the ballroom’s back wall. His eyes met Harry’s for a moment and he gave a flicker of a wicked smile before turning serious once more, hands linked behind his back. “Muggle culture has been threatening to overtake our own for too many years now. Gone are our holidays, our traditions are forbidden. Our movements become more restricted, the banning of esoteric arts causing us to lose more magic by the year. The current administration, already so ready to cast aside anything truly Dark, is always looking for another branch of knowledge to persecute. And now, we stand poised on a precipice: the traitorous idiots in the Ministry grow nearer to revealing our existence to the muggles every day. Naïve as they are, they refuse to see the complete annihilation of our way of life such a thing would cause, instead are happy to continue taking away our power spell by spell in the meantime.”

He paused then and let his magic unfurl. The Darkness curled around Harry like a lover, reminding him not for the first time of the way the locket made him feel. Apparently he had more of an affinity for Dark magic than he’d ever known. When Voldemort was not enraged, his magic was so casually seductive that it made Harry’s head spin. He sat basking for a moment, amused at the gasps and visible glassiness in the eyes of the others near him. This was a rare treat for them, feeling Voldemort without restriction. For Harry, it was like coming home.

A sharp look reminded him of what he was supposed to be doing. He stood and made his way to stand beside his partner as he loosened his own control over his magic to let it seep out to entwine with Voldemort’s. He felt the attention of the representatives swinging back and forth between them and let his bland smile widen to a sharp grin that was mirrored by his side. More than one of them seemed close to unresponsive, while several others were breathing heavily. The Dark Goblin that sat to the right of Harry’s chair was swaying in place; the Manticore’s mane was bristling like it had been struck by lightning. The twin witches there to speak for the last, long-hidden commune of Vitki2 from a northern isle were clinging to one another’s hands. It was rare for any wizard to possess the power he or Voldemort did, so the two of them in such close proximity was likely a bit more than most beings could handle.

“My friends,” Voldemort hissed, his magic crackling. “Those times are at an end. Together, we will remind the Wizarding world just what magic is capable of. We will ensure our ways are not lost to time, that our magic is not limited by humanity’s fickle ignorance. Together, we can stand against the Light’s nescience and restore magic to its rightful place. Join this revolution and you will be rewarded beyond your wildest dreams!”

The cheers that rose up were deafening. The Yumbo chieftain was standing on zirs chair and howling, a hag was cackling so loudly that it rose above the cacophony. The Death Eaters had fallen to their knees to kowtow while flames shimmered down the Sphinx’s back as she rose up on her back legs and roared.

Harry turned to Voldemort to see him grinning like the madman Harry so often accused him of being. He mirrored it, fierce resolution resounding within him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1: Bearbees are stolen from the anime _Kyou Kara Maou_. Imagine teddy bears with bee-striped bodies and little wings  & antennae. Saccharinely cute. Nogisu!
> 
> 2: Most of the races/beings mentioned are canon ones, but I also used Druï (druids) and Vitki (shaman/sorcerers of Old Norse myth) for some the human representatives just to give different cultures to add instead of ‘Dark wizards a, b, and c.’
> 
>  
> 
> Current word change: +37,328


	16. Inchoate // just begun and thus not fully developed; imperfectly formed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, here's a bright side: it didn't take _quite_ 100,000 words! 
> 
> (づ￣ ³￣)づ ლ(ΘڡΘლ)

The summit went on for hours still after Voldemort’s speech. Harry’s patience was wearing thin, but he was once again thankful to the long hours of training Valerian had forced upon him as he was able to keep up his bland, polite façade even in the face of idiocy or boredom. He and Voldemort didn’t _need_ these beings, not properly, but their help would solve a lot of problems. The more they united the Dark, the less the Light would be able to do to fight back once they had taken over. So Harry kept up his mask of interest even though he despised niceties like this. He was glad Voldemort excelled at the grand speeches and such, as Harry was utter rubbish at it.

Voldemort’s transformation was still the most fascinating thing in the room. Gone was the surly, irritable wizard Harry had grown to know. He was not the man who bickered with Harry over paperwork or ranted about obscure spells with him, nor was he even the oh-so-evil Dark Lord he was in front of his Death Eaters, effortlessly cruel and in control. Instead he was a new version of himself, slick and charming, oozing charisma that made up for his horrifying visage. While Harry had compared Voldemort mentally to a panther or other large feline before, it was doubly true now as he prowled around the room. Harry kept finding himself distracted from his conversations by a low chuckle reaching him or the way his posture, even, seemed entirely altered.

A huff of dry laughter startled him. The Sphinx Anka sat with her tail flicking idly beside her, a finely arched brow raised sardonically at him. “You should learn to be less obvious about your staring, Young Lord.”

He swore he felt a tick in his cheek. “Ah, I was just distracted, my lady. I apologize.”

Her smile quivered a bit, her dark eyes shining. “It is no matter. The way your magic admixes with his tells your story with no words necessary.”

“Ah, I’m not sure what you mean.” He kept up his polite smile, but something in his gut roiled.

She gave another laugh, this one curled around a purr. “As Aset did for Usir, you must for him. He must learn that which he knows not. Only then may this war be won.”

He narrowed his eyes and his smile dropped. “Sorry, I’m not really read up on Egyptian mythology.”

She merely shook her head, the baubles in her hair clinking. Her dark ochre skin was a stark contrast to the paleness of her fur, and her black eyes gleamed. “Never you mind, my lord. We outlanders stand with you. I look forward to rending enemies to pieces at your side.”

He bowed to her, still feeling uneasy. “I hope I can give you worthwhile opportunities to stretch your claws.”

Her gaze flicked around, indolent but wary, her tail rapping against the ground at intervals. “The Dark Lord has promised us succor in the war’s fallout, a place in society once you have overtaken the current leaders. I am quite sure, however, that he offers these things with the assumption that we will tell our brethren in our home countries, that it will give him footholds across other communities.” She pinned him with her eyes then. “What will your reaction be if you find that few of us have any interest in your conquest once we are freed?”

Harry was slightly impressed by her gall. “Honestly? I don’t think it will matter. Voldemort is the sort to have all sorts of possible outcomes to his actions, carefully planned ‘maybes’ hiding around every corner. But if he _expects_ something, he’s very straightforward about it. That’s one of the things that attracted me to his side to begin with; there is little pretense within the Dark Sect. Voldemort makes his feelings very plain and there is little chance of misinterpreting what he wants when he asks for something. You may be able to give him additional benefits with certain actions, but if he asked only that you stand in support of his takeover, that’s all he wants.”

“And you?” she said with a lifted eyebrow.

“I leave these sorts of details to Voldemort. I am better at implementing solutions than I am at laying plans.”

“Curious, that such a creature would somehow find his way to a position _beside_ the Dark Lord rather than serving beneath him,” she purred, eyelids heavy as she gave a slow, sharp smile. “So many years of ruling alone, of gathering forces… it raises questions about just who you are that you have been allowed to stand shoulder-to-shoulder.” Very deliberately, her eyes flicked up to his forehead and back again. “You should take the lead more often, show your own prowess independent of the Dark Lord, if you wish to ensure that the pieces do not begin falling into place for those you wish to be kept in the dark. Give them reasons you belong there that do not include an impossible task performed unknowingly.”

He was stiff now, lips pursed and eyes narrow. “Thank you, my lady. I’ll keep that in mind. It was a pleasure to meet you.”

She bowed her head in acquiescence of his dismissal. As she began to move away, though, she paused, looking back over her shoulder and giving him a serious once over. “Always old, sometimes new. Never sad, sometimes blue.” He nearly cringed; he was awful at riddles and had feared she’d ask one. “Never empty, sometimes full. Never pushes, always pulls. What are you, Mylläkkä?”

Thankfully, she walked away then to stand beside the Pukwudgie she had arrived with, bending low to whisper in its ear. The calculating glint in its eyes when it turned back to him unsettled him further.

“You’re supposed to be mingling, dear.”

Harry jolted again and shot a wry look over his shoulder. “If people would stop sneaking up on me then leaving me bewildered, darling, maybe I’d manage.”

 “For a being with preternatural senses, you are incredibly oblivious.” Voldemort glanced at him from the corner of his eye as he scanned the room, but his glance turned into a hard stare quickly. “What happened?”

“Nothing,” Harry replied, affecting a casual smile to a passing dwarf who bowed as she passed. “Just cryptic nonsense.”

Voldemort hummed and tipped his head as someone across the room called for a toast. “I have told you before that you are a terrible liar, have I not?” Voldemort held out a crystalline goblet filled with a dark, pungent liquid that Harry hadn’t noticed him holding.

Harry took the glass and sniffed, eyes widening. “Is this Sangwine1?”

“Obviously,” Voldemort scoffed. The wizard that was toasting called for a cheer, and Voldemort and Harry raised their glasses with practiced, polite smiles in place. “It was sent by the Rayburns as a gift for you after your introduction.”

“And I’m only getting it now because?” Harry said dryly, sipping at the rather rare drink. It tasted better than he remembered it to from Valerian’s attempts to make him more posh as a teenager.

“Salazar forbid that you wind up more of a spoilt brat than you already are.” Voldemort took a long swallow of his own, pale drink, long fingers looking odd wrapped around the goblet’s stem. “In any case, I will be dismissing everyone soon, so please say your valedictions. You are free to go as well, though I need you here as early as possible Friday, remember. It is the only evening that Croaker could confirm a gap in the security around the Department of Mysteries.” Voldemort paused and scowled. “I am still incredibly irritated that you managed to out Augustus. He could have assisted our entry into the Mind labs with much less secrecy needed.” Voldemort said ‘secrecy’ like it was a dirty word.

He’d been all for blasting his way into the Ministry to go look into the device they’d heard was being developed, but Harry had talked him into making it into a stealth operation. It was meant to be either an information run or a heist, after all; there was no need to make a spectacle of it. They simply needed to ascertain if the orb Croaker had informed them of functioned as it was said to. Apparently, the Minister had ordered the Unspeakables to create something that could determine someone’s allegiances. If it was functional, they needed it out of the Ministry’s hands. Having it for themselves would just be a bonus.

“Well, pardon my fifteen-year-old self for being gullible enough to listen to a berkish old Dark Lord and show up that evening.” Voldemort gave a fake sneer over the rim of his glass, his lipless mouth curling to bare his teeth. Harry snickered and took a long drink.

Voldemort only hummed, tipping his head towards a werewolf delegate that was trying to get his attention. “Regardless, please wrap up anything you have left to discuss and play the lovely hostess you are; I will see you early Friday.”

“ _Hostess_?” Harry squawked, resisting the urge to swat at Voldemort. He was sorely tempted to regardless of all the eyes in the room when he got a smug smirk in return, but he held himself back. “Very funny, you prick—“

“Well, at the least you are the more approachable of the two of us, even if they are fools to think you are somehow harmless.” Harry felt his expression of mock offense drop at the unexpected compliment, his breath stalling. Voldemort continued without pause. “Come now, dear, we must see our guests away.”

Voldemort chuckled and tipped his drink at Harry before strolling away, all poise and controlled power. Eyes swung to follow him. Harry was instantly approached by several people with questions as Voldemort stepped away, proving the comment about approachability right. Harry pasted on his polite smile and counted the minutes until he could be free of political wrangling.

Harry was surprised by the serious expression on Ron’s face.

He’d decided to spend his free time flying, Halloween having reminded him of how much he enjoyed it. He hadn’t seen his friends since lunchtime and, though things had been getting back to normal in the week since the argument, their interactions were still strained.

But here Ron was, his Cleansweep’s broad, sturdy handle shining like he’d polished it recently. Harry had been flying in aimless circles around the pitch, lost in thought more than actively flying, so when Ron approached and hovered before him, he had had to blink the physical world back into focus. The sun was going down, but this time of year that happened around four in the afternoon so hadn’t been lost in his head for too long. They’d had a week of unseasonal warmth, but Harry could feel the chill in the air that preceded a cold snap.2

Ron fiddled with his scarf a bit, and Harry wasn’t sure if the red in his cheeks was from the brisk wind at this height or if he was embarrassed. Harry nudged his broom a little closer and gave an awkward smile. “Hey, good weather for flying, huh?”

“You didn’t even both to tell me you were coming up,” Ron said with a furrowed brow. “I’ve been bugging you to go out flying with me for weeks, then you finally do and you don’t tell me?”

Harry looked away, chagrined. “Sorry about that. I didn’t see you and had the urge.”

Ron didn’t respond for a long moment, the silence awkward. Harry adjusted one of the straps on his Quidditch gloves to give himself something to do. When nothing was forthcoming, he peeked back at where Ron was staring rather vacantly, his expression twisted up and consternated. “Something wrong?”

“Do you think I’m still a kid?” The question burst out of him like a dam had been broken with Harry’s question, jaw snapping shut after and tilting stubbornly.

“Uhh,” Harry said intelligently, blinking rapidly. “What do you mean?”

Ron looked even more awkward now, fingers tense around his broom’s handle. “Nothing, nevermind, this was stupid.”

“C’mon, Ron.” Harry sighed and slid up close enough to bump the redhead’s shoulder with his own. “You know you can talk to me.”

“It’s what Hermione said last week,” he muttered, eyes looking down towards the pitch in the opposite direction of Harry. “About how she thought I’d ‘been growing up’ but didn’t think so anymore.”

“She says stuff like that a lot.”

“I know!” Ron exclaimed, blue eyes flying over to stare at Harry while the red in his cheeks intensified with his temper. “But I never really paid much attention, coz she always says rubbish like that. But this year—“ he trailed off and looked away again, shoulders hunching.

Harry dipped down in a gentle arc to fly under the redhead while he struggled to find words, looping in idle circles. It was best to just let him figure things out when he was like this, and though Harry was impatient he’d give Ron time.

After several long minutes, Ron sighed. “You came back this term all… all adult-like. You’re loads more serious than you used to be. I mean, I know Sirius dying and the stuff with the Death Eaters was a big deal, but sometimes I think you’re a different person altogether. You never want to talk about Quidditch anymore and hardly play chess with me, you’re always doing your homework before Hermione even starts to nag and going off by yourself for ages. And you just… you look at us sometimes like we’re pests or sommat, the way Percy always did when we were younger and I just—“

Harry felt something like guilt bubble in his stomach, looking away from where Ron was still tense and hunched. He hadn’t thought he’d notice, honestly. Ron was sometimes a caricature of obliviousness, but Harry hadn’t been giving him enough credit. And he was right. More often than not, he _was_ annoyed by Ron and Hermione’s childishness, at least when they were bickering. One on one, he was reminded of why he loved them enough to put up this charade, but other times he was near to pulling out his younger form’s short, messy hair and screaming.

He sighed, turning his broom until he was facing Ron head on. “I’m sorry, mate,” he said, not sure what else to say. “I, well, it isn’t that you guys aren’t my best friends. I just have a lot on my mind now. All this with Voldemort is so much more real after the end of term, especially with the prophecy. When Sirius died—“ Harry closed his eyes and thought back to that summer, the emptiness he’d felt that had driven him out of Privet Drive and, though unknown to him at the time, into his destiny. He sighed and slumped. “He was the closest thing to family I’d ever had. I mean, I appreciate _your_ family a lot, your mum especially tries to make me feel a part of things every time I’m around, but I always know that I’m not. Sirius, though… he only had me. I only had him. I thought, maybe, finally I’d have family who—“

He broke off and coughed, shaking himself. “Anyway. I helped get him killed, Ron. I let stupid teenage rivalries and laziness keep me from doing the stuff I needed to that could have told me that the vision was a trap. Then, on top of it, I dragged all of you into it and nearly got us killed! This is a war, Ron. It’s serious. I can’t muck about being a kid anymore, I have to be ready. This war is going to decide the fate of the Wizarding world for at least the next few years if not longer, and somehow I’ve been put on the front lines.”

Ron’s face was back to uncommon seriousness, a frown creating a deep furrow between his brows. “You shouldn’t have to change yourself for all this though. We’re only sixteen—“

“But I’m also prophesized to be the one who can end this war.” It was honest; one way or another, it was his choices that would decide it all. “Even if I wanted to run away, it would just mean more people would be hurt. I can’t just pretend nothing’s happening. Life’s not fair, but I can only take what comes at me.”

Ron looked away, his frown deepening. “And leave us behind in the process, huh?”

Harry cringed, glad Ron wasn’t looking at him. “Well, like you said, we’re just teenagers. I can’t expect you guys to follow along just because you had the bad luck to make friends with the one eleven year old who was fated to have to take part in this war.”

The frown transformed into a scowl now, Ron’s blue eyes even darker than usual in the waning light with his anger. “Just like that, huh? We’ve been with you through _everything¸_ every year no matter what got thrown at us. But now you’ve gotta be the hero all on your own because of some stupid prophecy?”

Harry scowled right back. “No, Ron. But if you’re more interested in girls and Quidditch than learning how to survive, I’m not going to wait for you!”

There was silence in the wake of that, and Harry belatedly realized they’d been shouting. Ron only stayed still and staring for a moment, though, before shaking his head. “Whatever,” he said as he turned. “Sorry if we’re not the kind of people you need to win a war with.”

“That isn’t what I meant and you know it!” Harry snapped as Ron zipped back down towards the ground and dismounted his broom.

But really, he thought as he watched the redhead begin striding away from the pitch, maybe it kind of was.

Harry distanced himself from Ron and Hermione both in the days that followed. Hermione still watched him like a hawk, but he supposed Ron had informed her of their conversation since, after the first day, she didn’t look confused or morose over his aloofness. Really, it was for the best. He’d been dawdling on putting some kind of buffer between them, pulling himself away from their tightknit, small circle. Regardless of his irritation, he’d been basking in once more having the people he adored so close. No matter how young they seemed, no matter how they annoyed him, he loved them. It was hard to know he was going to, in their eyes, betray them.

He reminded himself that it was better this way several times a day, instead focusing on the last elements of the secrecy ward he and Dante had been working on. He had found a fascinating book on Cooperative spells in the Restricted Section that dealt in magics that could only be done with collaboration between beings of two or more races. A ritual that was intended as a privacy ward on a house to keep out intruders had given him an idea about their Fidelius variant, so he was in the library drawing out a triangle in glyphs and runes that could serve as the grounding on the spell that would encompass a room as a whole.

His eyes darted up when he felt someone approaching his isolated corner; in this area there were only housekeeping charms so it was rare for students to bother coming near. He was simultaneously surprised and unsurprised when he was met with the sight of Luna’s scraggly blond curls as she walked backwards down an aisle. She was barefoot again but this time seemingly by choice, as her runners were in her hand. She placed them on the table and turned with a dramatic twirl, smiling at Harry. “Hello again, my lord. I thought you might want someone to talk to.”

He flinched and shushed her, senses expending and relieved when he found no one else nearby. “You really shouldn’t call me that, Luna.”

“Don’t worry, Harry-who-isn’t-quite-Harry. It isn’t likely anyone would think much of it even if they heard me.”

“Still,” he said uncomfortably, sitting back in his chair and crossing his arms. “Ready to explain how you seem to know so many dangerous secrets, Luna?” He’d decided weeks ago that he wasn’t going to play coy with her.

She sat daintily, head tipping to the side too far to be anything but purposeful. It left him with the feeling that she was crooked and almost made him want to tip his head as well to straighten his view. “Well, you see, I was discussing a recent uptick in the population of Dabberblimps with one of the merfolk early on in the school year when a particularly insistent Nargle found me. It swore that things were changing, that you’d been away but had come back again and were going to make the world better.”

He resisted the urge to roll his eyes or sigh; he’d learned enough in the last decade that he at least believed Luna _thought_ these things were real, even if they weren’t what she thought they were. It wasn’t like she’d got this information out of nowhere, after all. “And… what _are_ Nargles, Luna?”

“I’ve told you before, they’re just mischievous little things. It had got its information from a Wrackspurt, and with what terrible storytellers _they_ are I thought at first they may be exaggerating or misinformed, but I saw the changes in you and just knew it all must be true.”

He resigned himself to not knowing the _how_ , at least for the moment. “Well, so it doesn’t bother you? I know you gave an oath not to tell anyone about it, but I still don’t get why you aren’t at least surprised.”

“Well, I was,” she said plainly, head finally straightening back to normal. “I learned a lot last year, though. Not only did I get all of you as friends, Neville’s stories about the things that have happened to you over the years were surprising. The Headmaster has obviously got tangled with a Slashkilter or something else grim like that if he’s allowed so many things to happen around him. I can’t get a straight answer from even the Grey Lady about whether he’s done some of it on purpose, but much of it is very dodgy, if you ask me.”

“So, since Dumbledore has done bad things you’re fine with me following Voldemort?” he said in a low tone, arching an eyebrow.

“You don’t follow anyone, my lord. But no matter what I thought about the Dark Lord, I trust _you_. If he’s good enough for you to fancy, he can’t be so bad.”

“F-Fa— I don’t _fancy him_ , Luna!” he said in the loudest, most high-pitched whisper he’d ever managed, feeling all the blood in his body rush to his face.

She hummed and smiled, pulling up her legs and tottering a bit as she tried to balance on the narrow chair while sitting cross-legged. “When will you be calling us together here in the school, my lord?”

“Stop calling me that while we’re in Hogwarts, Luna,” he said, glad for the change of subject. He’d rather not show undue interest by arguing with her previous assertion.

“All right, Harry-who-isn’t-quite-Harry.”

“Just—just Harry, Luna.”

She hummed again and pulled a book out of seemingly nowhere. “You will gather us soon though, right? There is much to do in the months before you leave.”

He felt a chill run down his spine. “Yeah, soon.”

The orb was not quite as they expected.

Harry’s brows raised to his hairline as Voldemort hissed obscenities in Parseltongue, eyes flicking over the massive orb that was taking up most of the space in what they’d once dubbed the ‘Brain Room’ of the Department of Mysteries. Saul Croaker, in describing the device under development, had spoken of something that, when held, produced light of varying colors to note where one’s loyalty and allegiance lied. They had both been picturing something the size of a crystal ball or a bludger that would be held in someone’s hands, not something that even Hagrid would be unable to wrap his arms around.

It dominated the room entirely. Other than a small workspace with three messy desks, a tall wooden table currently clear of anything but some muggle-looking chemistry equipment, and a three-row-deep miniature library off to one side, there was nothing else in the room any longer. The clutter and odds and ends he’d noted the last time he’d been there and the giant tank that had been filled with brains were all absent.

“And just how are we to get this massive thing out of here?” Harry said dryly, arms crossed and wand tapping against his bicep. They only had until the Unspeakables assigned to the room were back from a meeting with their superior. “I assume we don’t want to risk using a Shrinking charm.”

Voldemort glanced towards him and grimaced. “Absolutely not. It is risky to alter any magical device, but an experimental one?”

Harry nodded his accord, beginning to circle the thing as he thought. “Same with transportation spells, for that matter, other than a Portkey. So our options, then, are destroying it, finding another time with a longer window of opportunity to smuggle it out, or pulling down the wards and Portkeying out with it?”

“So it seems,” Voldemort said darkly, once again breaking off into Parseltongue to swear. “We will need to ascertain if it even works before we decide.”

Harry cast several Diagnostic charms on it, noting that Voldemort was doing the same. They worked in silent tandem for several minutes; Harry could feel their annoyingly short window of opportunity shrinking away. There did not seem to be any security measures in place on the orb itself and, so far as Harry could tell, the spellwork seemed stable. It shouldn’t cause any harm to touch it. He exchanged a look with Voldemort that had Harry sighing and stepping forward; of course _he_ was to be the testee. Voldemort rolled his eyes. “I have the larger spell repertoire if something goes wrong. Also, with your vampirism, you are more durable than I am.”

Harry conceded the point and eyed the orb, currently resembling opaque glass. When he cut his eyes back to Voldemort, he saw the man looking tense with his wand at the ready, eyes narrow. The idea that he was at all concerned for Harry’s safety made his insides warm, and it was easy to take that final step and touch the orb with one hand.

At first, nothing happened. But with a pulse that ran through Harry like a shockwave, ripping a gasp from him, suddenly the room was aglow with color. A deep, ruby red was the most prominent, but twined through it were various shades of green, blue, brown, violet, and silver swirling like a Van Gogh painting. The orb itself was lit that same red that dominated the air around Harry, but the colors seemed to emanate from the orb itself, reaching out like smoky tendrils.

He kept contact and turned to Voldemort, breathing a bit heavily. The man was wide-eyed as well, wand arm drooping slightly from its ready position. Harry’s heart jerked in his chest as he realized that the red was the exact shade of Voldemort’s irises and that tendrils of color were wrapped around the man as well, leading away to the orb as well as back to Harry.

Questions ran through him in rapid succession. How did one determine what the colors represented? How were they chosen in the first place? What did the extra colors signify, if the color the orb itself was lit was tied to his so-called allegiance?

They were both distracted by the orb’s activation, by the colors in the air, by the possible implications. Harry’s enhanced senses meant nothing if he was not paying attention, and Voldemort had obviously not been keeping his awareness on magical activity. So rather than noting when the Unspeakables had arrived back on Level Nine like they’d intended, giving them time to Disillusion themselves and wait in the Entrance Chamber until the Unspeakables had moved into their assigned rooms, Harry suddenly realized there were two dozen heartbeats already in the antechamber.

He let go of the orb and darted to Voldemort, grabbing him by the forearm and jerking him towards the wall that he knew the door to the Death Chamber was set into. He had his wand out and threw a Disillusionment charm at each of them just as the door to the Mind Room was opened, leaving them jerking to a halt near the rows of bookshelves that made up that side of the room.

“Did you see her, though?” one of the Unspeakables was saying, his voice young enough that Harry wasn’t surprised when it cracked. “I think she looked at me!”

“She was looking at the clock behind you, Faurent,” another said, sounding resigned and tired. “Now stop thinking about Natilda Hopkirk and start thinking about how to make this stupid chunk of glass actually give a reading the Minister can pretend like he understands.”

“But it’s _hard_ , Mulligan. How do we narrow the results when emotion is so subjective and wishy-washy? It was hard enough to get it give any sort of reading, limiting it down to what side of the war a person wants to win is almost impossible!”

“Would you rather be assigned to the Soul Room trying to understand the Animagus transformation? Because they’ve literally been trying to get the mechanics down for a decade. We’ll figure out something to make Fudge shut his gob; we’ve only been at this since August.”

The younger man’s whinging was a good cover for them to slowly make their way into the rows of books, Harry’s hand still tight on Voldemort’s forearm so they didn’t lose track of one another and collide. While it would be ridiculously easy to break their concealment and kill the bickering wizards, doing so would create several issues, ones that had been the reason Harry had argued for stealth in the first place. For one thing, the conversation confirmed that the orb was not actually working how they wanted it to yet. If it could be made to work, it could be a boon to root out traitors or test Ministry officials once they’d taken over to keep moles out. The people who were developing it should be left alone until they’d managed, if they _would_ ever manage. Secondly, it would make it clear someone had broken in and Harry knew that there were many potentially useful things in the Department of Mysteries that they might need access to in the months to come. Heightened security and suspicion would only cause more problems down the road. And lastly, Merlin forbid that the Ministry realize the Dark Sect knew about and was interested in the orb; its development would likely be concentrated on even more, and it would be locked away somewhere inaccessible, leaving a truly useful weapon in the hands of the opposition.

“Get me that book with the section on kinematic viscosity, would you?”

“Aww, but I put all the books back just an hour ago!”

Harry swore silently and slid into the narrow space between two bookshelves near a corner, unsure where the Unspeakable was going to be walking to get to the book in question. He tugged pointedly at Voldemort’s arm, getting resistance and a quiet scoff in return. The young Unspeakable, Faurent, was suddenly in view then, and turning their direction. Harry yanked this time, uncaring of Voldemort’s protests.

With Parseltongue invectives being hissed against the shell of his ear, Harry wrapped an arm around the man’s waist and pulled him in tightly, refusing for their pride at the very least to be caught sneaking around by some teenager. He felt Voldemort’s magic spark and vibrate in anger, likely at Harry’s manhandling, but unfortunately for Voldemort his magic had never had a deterring effect on Harry. The lick of Dark magic over his skin made Harry wish to melt as usual, glad all of a sudden for their Disillusionment. If Voldemort could see his face right now, the way his lashes fluttered and his lips parted, he’d be mocked for weeks.

He didn’t count on the fact that, pressed together as they were, Voldemort had surely felt the way he’d shuddered. After stiffening momentarily, Harry could feel Voldemort’s chest vibrate with a silent chuckle. And then he was shifting and they were pressed together fully from knee to shoulder, Voldemort’s breath hot over his neck as he hissed. // _Something the matter, Potter?_ // Even in Parseltongue, the tone was sly and mocking.

// _Shut up before you get us caught,_ // Harry replied, his free hand clenching and relaxing at his side as he fought down the urge to— to—

“Wait, what one did you need again?” The younger Unspeakable couldn’t have been more than a few yards away. Harry found himself pointlessly holding his breath, though he doubted the boy would notice them even if they kept speaking in quiet Parseltongue. He didn’t seem to be the most observant sort. “Was it Affective Neuroscience and Emotion Assessment?”

“No, I need the one on Quantum theory, bugger all if I remember the title.”

The teen began muttering under his breath in irritation, mocking his colleague. Voldemort pressed harder against him, drawing his attention back to the empty space in front of him, only the barest shimmer in the air giving away that Voldemort was there. He felt his own heartrate tick upwards in response to the sudden movement, mind flashing back to the moment he’d met Voldemort’s eyes after touching the orb. All that red, wrapped around and between them like a spider’s web. What did it mean? Was it just that they were further along than they seemed to think and the orb was reacting to his clear siding with the Dark Sect? Or was it a physical representation of whatever it was between them, this weird, singular friendship that seemed to have sprung from nowhere and was dominating Harry’s every other thought?

Breath fanned over his face now, making Harry’s thoughts freeze. // _If the boy does not leave soon, I will kill him. No device is worth this much indignity,_ // Voldemort said in a tone that made Harry sure he was sneering.

// _Not like anyone but me will ever know_ ,// Harry replied, but his voice came out huskier than he’d meant it to.

Voldemort shifted against him again, the smallest of adjustments, but the lack of ability to see him made it startle Harry as if he’d undulated against him when a firm thigh brushed against his cock. His breathing hitched and he stiffened in place before he could stop himself, sudden fire racing along his nerves like he was being electrified. The curl of Voldemort’s magic intensified then, no longer irritated and prickly but now near-overwhelming, dense and inebriating and turning Harry’s thoughts foggy.

// _He is gone now_ ,// Voldemort hissed, too close, not letting up on the pressure that had Harry pinned to the wall. Involuntarily, the arm Harry had wrapped around his waist squeezed Voldemort closer yet, drawing a low chuckle in response.

He meant to snark at the man, push him away so they could exit finally, get them out of the Ministry and forget that he’d ever had the bright idea of attempting _stealth_ with Voldemort of all people. But his mind wasn’t working quite right, thoughts slow and languorous, heartbeat thundering hard enough that he swore Voldemort should be able to feel it against his own chest. He wondered, inanely, if it took skin contact or whether Voldemort was almost entirely human-looking at the moment because of their closeness, wished he could see him to find out.

Red filled his mind again. Red in the orb, red in Voldemort’s eyes, red threads of light spun around the room and twining around the two of them, tying them together. Voldemort’s magic was thick in the air, wrapping around him in the best ways, and Harry’s mouth fell open because he couldn’t seem to get enough air. He was thunderstruck by the realization of how hotly his blood was pulsing in his veins, how he wanted nothing more than to let Voldemort devour him whole if that was what it took to get closer yet.

He wasn’t sure who started it. Later, when he let himself think about it for longer than a moment, he would dwell and second-guess and run in circles with his anxiety and doubts and self-recrimination. He would try, even, to deny to himself how completely he’d wanted it, how the feelings had roared through him like a hurricane. But, no matter how he’d try, he wouldn’t be able to convince himself that he hadn’t loved every second of it.

Harry didn’t even really realize they were kissing until he was trying to suppress a moan, fingers clenched tight in the back of Voldemort’s robes and his back arching. Hands framed his face and were gripping him hard, pulling him close and holding his head at the right angle for Voldemort to run his tongue over Harry’s teeth, to bite at his lips, to swallow down the small noises Harry couldn’t stop from making. One hand snaked into his cumbersome hair and gripped it tight, the thigh that had startled him now pressing firmly between his legs. Full lips ran over his cheekbone and down his neck to bite over his pulse, ripping a too-loud gasp from his throat and making Voldemort dive once more to cover his mouth with his own.

Harry braced a hand at the hinge of Voldemort’s jaw, feeling stubble and wishing again that he could _see_ the transformation his mind told him had to have taken place. He recalled wondering weeks ago what would happen if they kissed; he knew now. He could feel a nose pressed alongside his when Voldemort changed the angle, hair curling over his fingers when he ran one hand up the man’s neck. One of Voldemort’s hands was skimming down his side, grabbing at his thigh and pulling to make him hike his leg over the man’s hip, leverage lifting him from the ground—

“Do you hear that?”

They froze, Voldemort’s mouth pressed to Harry’s cheek and Harry’s mouth wide as he tried to quell the loudness of his rapid breathing.

“Hear what?” the younger one asked, sounding close still but no longer in view.

A moment of silence ensued, the two of them frozen and the Unspeakables still as they listened.

“Ah, nothing, nevermind. Cor, even with that creepy tank gone I hate this place. Can’t possibly give us a space _not_ dank and awful, can they?”

Harry found himself nearly sliding to the ground as Voldemort suddenly stepped back, removing his weight from Harry in one motion. He wobbled, only a hand quickly grasping him by the bicep keeping him standing. // _We should exit now_ ,// Voldemort said, voice deep and odd. // _This is truly not the place for such things._ //

He could feel all the blood rushing to his face that had previously been directing itself elsewhere, and he was again glad he wasn’t visible. There was something smug about the way Voldemort’s magic was curled around him, in the proprietary hand still gripping his arm. Harry swallowed once, twice, took in deep breaths to try and steady himself. He wasn’t going to think about this now. He could _not_ think about this now.

// _On the right about fifteen yards over is where I remember the door being_ ,// he said in the most steady voice he could manage, forcing himself upright under his own power. His legs felt like jelly. He moved only because Voldemort’s hand on his arm forced him to, and Harry could only tamp down on the panicked thoughts that whirled around his mind and blindly follow, stumbling a bit.

He had not just invisibly snogged Voldemort. Had not. Had not, had not, had not.

// _Next time, Harry, let’s ensure we have more privacy, hmm?_ //

Had not.

“What in the world is wrong with you?”

Harry flinched as Hermione sat abruptly across from him, breaking the nearly week-long impasse between him and the other two-thirds of the Golden Trio. He had been building ramparts made of veg along the perimeter of his roast, his mash taking the form of fortifications along the walls and a moat for his gravy. He eyed her through his fringe and pushed his plate away, obviously not about to eat it in his current mood. “Nothing, ‘Mione, don’t worry about me.”

“Well, that’s unlikely,” she said with an arch look. “I can do little but worry about you these days. I know you and Ron are having a row—“

“It isn’t a row,” he grumbled.

She talked over him without pause. “—but that isn’t any good reason to look so morose, Harry. You’ve been even less social than usual, and that says something.” She stopped and eyed him, lips pursing. “Now, what’s wrong?”

“Aren’t you going to hold a grudge like Ron is?” he asked, desperate not to have the conversation she was attempting to.

So he was maybe a bit more standoffish than even usual. In the days since the failed retrieval of the orb, Harry had spent more time burying himself in library books than attempting to keep up his Hogwarts façade. He couldn’t even take his mind off things with Dante, as the man alternated between asking pointed questions and giving him the most deeply amused look fathomable for someone who only reacted in microexpressions. So that left Harry to isolate himself as well as he could in a boarding school. In the few times, such as mealtimes, that he had to show his face to Hogwarts at large, he was generally uncomfortable and, he knew, visibly bothered.

Not that he was thinking about why. He had more important things to focus on.

“I’m not happy with you, if that’s what you mean. But you know I don’t like to choose sides, and I like to think we’re mature enough now not to play this game of ignoring one another.”

That was a bit rich, seeing as it had been nearly a week since they’d spoken. He didn’t say that, though, instead just put down his fork and propped his elbows on the table, leaning his head on one hand. “Well, regardless, there’s nothing wrong. Just a bit stressed is all.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Not even going to try for a believable excuse? It must be something bad.”

His mind flashed back to surprisingly plush lips attempting to devour him, of the finger-shaped bruises that had lingered high on the back of his thigh despite his accelerated healing. He closed his eyes and willed the thoughts away. “I really don’t want to talk about it.”

She didn’t respond right away, but when she did her voice was softer, more hesitant. “Harry, this is what friends are for.”

“Well, sometimes friends need to be for letting someone ignore their problems and continue being in denial, all right?”

The aggravated noise she made in her throat was familiar, and he tracked her by sound as she pushed away from the table and walked back towards where Ron and Ginny sat before he opened his eyes again. He gave an explosive sigh and stood as well, shouldering his bag. He supposed he should go back to the library and do some of his actual homework rather than his side projects. He, again, wished to go to Dante’s rooms, perhaps request a training session to physically work himself into a stupor, but he didn’t think he was in the proper mindset to endure the elder vampire’s insinuations without bursting.

“Hey Harry? Do you have any time to show me the proper wand movements for the Knee-Reversal hex and its counter? The best I got when I was practicing on a dummy was one of its toes going wonky.”

Harry blinked several times at Neville’s awkward, hopeful smile and found himself returning it. “Yeah, now’s fine actually if you’re up for it. We can go up to the seventh floor and have it generate dummies like the ones from class.”

Neville grinned and shuffled closer. “Thanks, Harry. You’re the greatest.”

“I’m really not,” Harry said with a wry, self-depreciating grin. He really, really wasn’t.

“Ah, my dear boy!” Dumbledore said with a wide smile, waving a hand towards Harry. “Come in; thank you for being so prompt.”

Harry shuffled his feet and ducked his head, playing up nervousness. “This is just another lesson, right sir? No more emergencies?”

He peeked up to see Dumbledore’s face flash with frustration and sadness before it smoothed back into his usual affable smile. “Just a lesson, Harry. Sit, sit, we have many, heavy things to speak of this evening.”

Harry sat, adrenaline already beginning to course through him at the serious tone conflicting with his expression. Would he finally stop beating around the bush and tell him what these Voldemort lessons were meant to be about?

“To begin, Harry, I must tell you a story. Before Professor Snape came to be in my employ—“ before he’d gone turncoat, Harry thought. “—there was a very different man that taught Potions. He had been a teacher here for a good many years, nearly as long as myself. As with Severus, this professor was also the Head of House for Slytherin.”

Harry nodded, trying to look interested rather than impatient.

“Now, Horace – and that was his name, Horace Slughorn – was a very different sort of teacher than Severus is and was very well-loved by students of all houses. Even in his retirement it was not uncommon for students to go to him for advice or help with job applications. Because Horace was so popular, you see, he had many friends across the Wizarding world in varying positions, so he would utilize his connections to assist students.” Dumbledore’s hands were steepled and his bright eyes were unfocused, far away. “I admit that I found the little parties he used to throw silly, but I know of many students who he helped to find employment or connect with someone who could assist in a problem. He was very well-read and well-connected, Horace was.”

Harry cleared his throat, sure there was a point to this reminiscence but getting impatient. “Sir?”

Dumbledore blinked and shook his head. “Ah, forgive me, my boy. The point to my little trip down the halls of memory was just to give you an idea of the sort of person Horace was: a Slytherin, yes, but always willing to help, especially if the one he was helping may in turn one day proceed to be someone important in the Wizarding world. Because of this, he always surrounded himself with the best and brightest minds. Why, your mother was one of his favorite students, if I recall, due to her deft hand at Charms and Potions.”

It was a bit obvious where this was going. “So Tom Riddle was one of his favorites too, then?”

“Indeed, Harry,” Dumbledore said softly. “Above any other, in fact. As you know, Tom was once a very charming young man, exceptional in nearly every way and very good at concealing his more sinister qualities. Very few saw through Tom’s portrayal of a studious, ambitious, and eager young man with only an academic passion for magic, and Horace was certainly not one of them. He adored Tom, often spoke of the great things he was sure he would accomplish once he’d left Hogwarts.”

“Things can be terrible and great all at once,” Harry replied, remembering what Ollivander had said all those years ago when he’d got his holly wand. He wondered what the old wand maker would think if he knew how right he’d been.

“Right you are.” Dumbledore’s expression hardened then, his usually-twinkling eyes like ice chips and a frown of frustration deepening the lines that bracketed his mouth. “I spoke to Horace several times in the last few years about a very particular subject and what sort of information he might have divulged to young Tom Riddle about it. It was a Dark thing, and I know Horace was ashamed in hindsight to have not seen through Tom’s act to the monster that lay within.”

Harry fought the urge to snap at that, glad Dumbledore was not looking his way.

“I was unable to get an admission from him, sadly; though I was able to confirm the subject was broached, Horace never admitted what precisely he told young Tom. I had intended for him to meet you, hoped you might have luck where I had not in convincing him to reveal the truth. I had already nearly convinced him to come out of retirement this year and planned for Severus take over the Defense post, since qualified applicants have been difficult to come by with the position’s history.”

Harry scooted forward in his chair, eyes intent. Just what was this subject that was so shameful a man had hidden a conversation about it decades later? “Was it Voldemort, then? Who killed him, I mean.”

“I fear we shall never know,” said Dumbledore with a deep sigh, looking down at his messy desk top. “It did not seem to be the case, as we know Tom is prone to bragging and this death was very simple and clean, but that does not rule the possibility out.  More importantly, Horace’s death, unfortunately, leaves us at a bit of a deadlock.”

“What is it that you think he told Tom about?” Harry nearly twitched as he realized his slip, but supposed that with Dumbledore calling him the same that it wasn’t so obvious.

“Here, Harry, let me show you what little I could obtain from Horace before his death.”

Once they had exited the memory, Harry was more confused than ever. He ignored the annoying part of him that had just been reminded of how utterly lovely Tom had been when he was younger – his mind’s eye jammed with thoughts of cheekbones and full lips that had so recently been pressed against his own and _he refused to think about this_ – and focused instead on the last, unaltered line of the memory. Tom had asked about something called horcruxes. It wasn’t a familiar word to Harry, but he felt something sinking in his gut when he thought it.

Dumbledore resumed his seat and leaned back in his chair, stroking his beard. “Now, without Horace, that is as much fact as we shall get on the matter. However, forgive me for my conceit, I believe I know enough to make a few very likely correct suppositions.”

Harry sat at the very edge of his seat and steeled himself for whatever Dumbledore may have to say.

It was much later that night, darkness near absolute with bedcurtains pulled and locked, that the magnitude of all Dumbledore had told him hit.

The mere idea of horcruxes made Harry’s skin crawl. Not because of any hypocritical objections to murder, obviously, but with the consequences thereof. The only positives of the situation Harry could see was that, for one, Dumbledore’s divulging all of this meant he needed Harry’s help to continue, and for another Harry had had no need to feign his deep revulsion and shock during the telling.

If Dumbledore’s conjecture was right – and really, trying to be objective about the situation, Harry bet it was – creating a horcrux moved a piece of the soul that had been detached by a previous action into a container. If murder and other heinous acts were what created cracks in the soul, how could one control the size of the resultant pieces? It seemed like there was no control over it, so a chunk of soul being removed was more likely than a sliver. Doing that multiple times—what in the bloody buggering hell had Voldemort been thinking? Harry fell back against his pillows, pale and shaking.

But it made sense. The diary was too much a weapon to have been Voldemort’s only means of immortality, so there was at least another out there. How much of a soul did he even have currently inside his body? What did that much mutilation to the very essence of a person _do_?

With a jolt, Harry was upright with a hand slapped over his mouth. His conversation just a few weeks prior with Voldemort rushed through him, of contact with an object, a ring, helping restore his sanity and _several other objects_ still needing to be collected.

Well, that was that. Harry was going to throttle the Dark Lord.

He felt himself slowly building from that stunned realization into a panic, the possible implications racing through his mind. On top of that, Dumbledore both knew about Voldemort’s means of immortality and was actively searching to destroy them. With breaths coming quicker, Harry fumbled blindly across his duvet in the darkness for his mokeskin pouch, hands shaking, chest beginning to burn. That utter and complete idiot! What kind of moron mutilates their soul, anyway?! There were not many good ways to come about immortality, mind, and none without significant downsides, but there had to be a better way than _that_. No wonder Voldemort had been such a crazy bugger for so many years! But, Merlin, just imagining the pain and suffering that had to be inherent with the creation of just one—

His fingers finally brushed across the craggy gemstones of the locket’s face, and Harry yanked it out with a choked cry of relief. He curled himself around it in an attempt to calm down, focusing as well as he could on the locket and nothing else. He couldn’t hear anything but his own thundering heartbeat and his too-fast breaths, but the magic of the locket seeped into him instantly as it always did, beginning to calm him straight away. It wrapped around him like it was holding him in turn, seeming to sense how badly he needed calming, blanketing him in soothing waves of Dark magic.

He pressed the smooth back to his lips and sucked in deep breaths; while his hands were still shaking, he no longer felt on the verge of swooning due to panic. The magic of the locket soothed him as it always did, leaving Harry feeling almost limp as he nuzzled it.

Sleep began pulling at him, but he resisted for the moment. There was too much to think about. Dumbledore wanted him to get Ron and Hermione to help with researching ways to put a memory back into its natural state. Since they could not get the untainted version from the source, they needed to see if they could revert Slughorn’s shoddily-modified memory to see what he’d really told Tom Riddle all those years ago, see what clues might be found about what Tom may have used or how many he might have made. He’d need to talk to Voldemort about that before he proceeded, if only to see if they could manufacture fake horcruxes or make Dumbledore think there were less than there were.

Harry rolled onto his back, clasping the locket against his bare chest. Merlin and Circe, Voldemort was going to be livid. If he’d been angry at the diary being inadvertently destroyed, how would he react to this? Dumbledore knowing meant that all of them were in danger. Harry recalled the gold band on Voldemort’s transformed hand, and his mind linked it now to the Gaunt ring young Tom Riddle had worn in the memory he’d watched that evening. So that one, at least, was safe. The diary – Harry cringed, understanding now why Voldemort had been so incandescently furious – he’d destroyed when he was twelve. Dumbledore said he had ideas of other objects that might have been used, but he wanted to see if Harry and his friends could recover the unaltered memory before he went into details on that.

Despite his best efforts, Harry could feel sleep encroaching on his mind. If it wasn’t already so late, if it wasn’t needlessly chancy, he’s already be on his way to Voldemort with this information. It was better that he wasn’t, though. He needed time to process, to try and plan a way to reveal what he’d learned without Voldemort’s ire being turned on him in the moment his temper snapped. They’d been getting better, lately, their fights less often taking a turn for the violent. He didn’t want to ruin that by blurting out what Dumbledore knew hastily. But, too, he couldn’t hold off on telling him; he shouldn’t even wait until Saturday for all that it was only a few days off.

Lately, it seemed that Voldemort nearly… trusted Harry. He had been slowly opening up to him in his own awkward, halting way, telling Harry things that he was sure Voldemort had never told anyone else. The parallels in their lives – their parentage, their upbringing, their goals, their positions in the world at the moment – leant them an intimacy that he didn’t think Voldemort had ever had with another person. He had always been either the defensive orphan or the domineering Dark Lord; there was no in-between for Lord Voldemort. The things he told Harry were inconsequential things, mostly, yes: memories from the orphanage, anecdotes from his many years in Albania where he still had a manor home, diatribes on acts and bills passing through the Wizengamot, thoughts on recent muggle and wizard advancements. They chatted and debated, snarked and argued. Even just that had been enough to make Harry feel warm and soft, knowing they were building something together that felt substantial, different. Meaningful.

Then Voldemort had gone and told him – given, in the most roundabout, vague way possible – about his horcruxes with hardly any pestering. In the moment Harry had already been touched with the admission, but now understanding the gravity of it Harry was utterly _floored_. He could hardly comprehend the fact that Voldemort had very nearly divulged his means of immortality to Harry with hardly any pretext.

He couldn’t, wouldn’t betray that trust. He refused to ever give Voldemort a reason to even suspect he might be less than honest with him. So, with that in mind, there was no way he could delay telling Voldemort what Dumbledore knew. He just needed to figure out as tactful of a way to say it as he could. He was almost glad for this sudden challenge if only because it gave him something to focus on in relation to Voldemort that wasn’t how his tongue had been in Harry’s mouth less than a week prior.

It was better thought about in the morning, though, once Harry had had the time to digest the information and calm down.  Right now he was still halfway wishing to strangle the man for his stupidity, but mostly he was just scared to death that Dumbledore knew so much about what was, for all intents and purposes, Voldemort’s means of survival.

He was nearly dozing, soft and serene now with the Dark magic of the locket wrapped around him. Really, it was nearly the most wonderful sensation he’d ever felt. Only Voldemort’s magic was better, and that was only because it was more potent. The two were so very alike—

Harry was once again sitting bolt upright, thoughts of sleep gone, eyes wide and breath caught in his throat. Slytherin’s locket, worn by Merope Gaunt in one of the memories Dumbledore showed him. Objects with genealogical value, like the Gaunt ring, that Voldemort imbued pieces of his soul into.

He felt like he was moving at half speed as he reached under his pillow for his wand and lit it, staring down at the glittering surface of the locket in his other hand. The magic of it was so comforting, so seductive, so like Voldemort’s.

Harry was an idiot.

 _Open,_ Harry said shakily, lifting the locket up nearer to his face.

He was frozen but somehow utterly unsurprised to see Tom Riddle’s face blinking back at him. He was older than he had been in the evening’s memory but not by much – in his early twenties at the latest. He was handsome as ever, dark curls perfectly framing his lovely face, but Harry was too far gone to even appreciate that.

 _Hello, Harry_ , said Tom, dark eyes intent and a wide, pleased smile curling his lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1: Sangwine is a terrible pun and nothing more. I regret nothing.  
> 2: So I literally looked up the weather in the closest-supposed town in Scotland to Hogwarts for 1996 for this meaningless sentence. On that note, all my moon phases in this rewrite are accurate to the date as well. I did the same weather-thing for one throwaway line in the original as well, but now I find myself checking little crud like this for no reason while writing. Why? Because I have issues. Even Jo didn’t care, since she has the days of the week screwed up all over in the books. Ah, well.
> 
> So no, it didn't take me 100k. It took me 96,031 to the end of that particular scene. (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧
> 
> *cough* Sorry? My burn is so slow you couldn't roast an ant on it.


	17. Peregrinate // To travel or wander

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you refresh and see weird things happening to the fonts, ignore it. I'm going to be playing with my skins a bit to try and make a less-basic formatting for Parseltongue script, so ignore all weird and the toying will be done soon.
> 
> Hit the 'Hide Creator's Style' button at the top if the font bugs you; it will swap them to just italics.

_"You realize,"_ Harry said with the utmost calm once he could move again, nostrils flaring. _"That I am going to kick your arse, right?"_

The portrait grinned, exposing teeth just a bit too sharp to be fully human. _"Ah, Harry, you are a delight. I am glad to finally get the chance to speak with you"_

 _"You’re an idiot."_ Harry hissed, his previous temper returning with a vengeance. _"Who the hell chops up their own soul, anyway?"_

The grin did not fade, and Tom rearranged himself in the portrait to lean his cheek on one propped hand. He leaned forward until his face was filling the small space, eyeing Harry with amusement. _"Now, Harry, do consider my choices. No, I did not necessarily know that there would be such far-reaching consequences, but it has allowed me to live until now, hasn’t it?"_

Harry huffed and leaned back against his headboard, lips pursed as he arranged the locket to sit open on his bent knees. _"How do you even know that? You can’t be more than twenty-five."_

 _"Twenty-one, actually, when I laid this particular enchantment."_ Tom ran his fingers through his hair, causing an errant curl to fall across his forehead. Harry cursed himself for noticing. _"And I hadn’t until you brought me out of that sad, dank little pit I was stuck in for so many years. But since you have taken to bringing me along with you wherever you go, I’ve learned much in the intervening months."_

Harry’s eyes widened. _"You’ve been watching _everything?_ "_

__

_"How else would I know when you needed comfort, shpirt?"_ Tom’s voice was best described as a purr, one finger idly tracing his lips as his eyes tracked Harry’s every move.

__

_"But that bag is warded!"_

__

_"Wards are meant to keep those outside from within; they do not stop me from observing all around us."_

__

Harry hunched a bit, the usual magic of the locket still managing to soothe him even as he struggled to keep hold of his anger. Knowing it was a bit of Voldemort now, realizing it was a conscious act, made him want to shy away from the way it seemed to curl around him. _"Stop that, you manipulative berk."_

__

_"I have no idea what you mean, my dear,"_ he replied, smile easing into a sly smirk. _"I know you do enjoy my magic surrounding you, there’s no use in pretending otherwise."_

__

_"How in the world did I not put this together sooner?"_ Harry scowled as he found he’d gone back to running his fingers along the locket’s craggy face. He liked to think he wasn’t a complete idiot, for all that he was a bit dense sometimes.

__

__"Ah,"_ said Tom, smile going a bit sheepish. The open, plain emotions he displayed – even if he suspected much of it was for show – made Harry want to squirm. _"That would be my fault. While I have not used any of the more… poisonous of my abilities on you, I admit that I have ensured that you would not question things about me too readily."__

__

Harry recalled all the times he’d chided himself for not casting diagnostic spells on the locket – for ever having picked up the locket in the first place. _"You wanker! You’ve been spelling me? And what do you mean ‘poisonous’?"_

__

Tom gave him a long look and propped his chin in one hand. _"As if I would leave any of my soul fragments defenseless, shpirt. I am imbued with many abilities. Were an enemy to find me, I could influence their mind to rage or terror, poison them slowly both mentally and physically. But in the case of someone less objectionable having me in their possession, I can merely turn their thoughts of me aside, ensure they do not discover what I am or do me any harm. You merely have too much information for me to subtly stop you from realizing now… and besides, I am glad for the opportunity to speak to you properly."_

__

_"Are you going to let me keep that knowledge?"_ Harry didn’t doubt that Voldemort would give his horcrux a way to use Mind Arts on someone; he was a master after all. And Harry had no illusions that he would be able to fight back against a modification from even just a fragment of Voldemort.

__

_"No need to worry. I am pleased that you know now, and I know you would not damage me. Voldemort, too, will agree once he knows I am in your possession."_

__

Harry chewed at his lower lip, eyes flicking from Tom’s smug countenance to his bedhangings and back again. _"He’s going to go completely spare over all this. Dumbledore knowing, me having had you all these months without mentioning."_

__

__"I admit, it is a serious problem that Dumbledore is aware of my horcruxes."_ Finally, the smug smirk dropped, leaving Tom with narrowed, dark eyes and rage slowly tightening his jaw. _"We will need to plan carefully so that he does not realize that I know but still does not get his hands on any of them."__

__

_"And me having you?"_

__

_"Well now,"_ Tom said with a smaller but no less smug smirk. _"That won’t be a problem. You’ve taken very good care of me, shpirt, and where is less likely to find a horcrux than in the hands of the Light’s supposed savior?"_

_"You say that, but I’m almost sure he’s going to explode once he realizes I’ve been hoarding a piece of his soul."_

Something in Tom’s eyes darkened yet further, his smile taking on a sly cast that made Harry’s neck prickle. _"As I said, you have taken exceptional care of me, and your lack of questioning what I was is through no fault of your own. I am positive he will not object to the time I’ve spent enjoying your bed with you."_

Harry felt very young as he flushed hotly, out of his element and awkward. _"We weren’t—you arse!"_

 _"Ah, this is so much more enjoyable when I can see your expressions."_ He was purring again, leaning so close that his grin was nearly the only thing in the locket’s frame. _"Worry not, my dear. I won’t let him separate us."_

 _"Don’t say it like that,"_ Harry said with a scowl. _"And maybe you should _go back to him now that I know what you are._ "_

__

For a bare moment, something like upset flashed over the portrait’s face. Harry pretended he didn’t feel a twinge of guilt over that. _"Mmm, you don’t mean that. Do you truly want to go back to sleeping alone?"_

Again, the realization of all his time spent with the locket translating into _time with a part of Voldemort_ was setting in, leaving Harry dizzy and out of sorts. He recalled whispered rants with his lips against the cool metal and even a few times he’d been so entranced with the locket’s magic, relaxed and buzzing with pleasure that he’d—

Harry snapped the locket shut and stuffed it into his pouch. He couldn’t deal with this now.

“My lord?”

Harry glanced over from where he stood indecisive in front of Voldemort’s office door, startled that he’d not noticed someone get so close. He’d been pointedly trying to train himself to be at least peripherally aware of beings around him at all times. He’d thought he was making progress. “Lucius,” he greeted distractedly, looking back at the wood grain before him and frowning. “Do you know who he’s in there with?”

Lucius didn’t answer right away, and after a moment Harry turned again to see the elder Malfoy staring at him with a furrowed brow. “Ah, I believe he is meeting with a few lower ranked Death Eaters being assigned to look into those ley line fluctuations near Cardiff. If I may, my lord, are you quite all right?”

Harry quirked a brow at him. “Not like you to inquire after anyone’s wellbeing, Lucius.”

“I only wonder since you’ve now referred to me by my proper name twice,” he said dryly, crossing his arms and cocking his head. “You know my lord would not begrudge you interrupting; you have done far worse.”

Harry felt his lips quirking into a smirk before he sobered, remembering why he was there. “Ah, I suppose you’re right. I should go in.”

“Is something the matter?”

Harry’s nostrils flared as he inhaled deeply, blowing air out slowly and forcing his shoulders to relax. “You should go, Lucius. Come back tomorrow unless whatever you have to say is urgent; I’m quite sure Voldemort won’t be in any mood to deal with anything this evening.”

Worry was plain on the blond’s face now, and he took an aborted step towards Harry. “Is it bad news?”

“Nothing you need to worry about, Pretty,” he said with a shadow of a smirk. “Private business, but not anything Voldemort will be pleased about.”

Lucius stayed frowning and still for a long moment before stepping back, folding his arms behind his back. “Good luck, my lord.”

“I’m gonna need it,” Harry said under his breath as Lucius walked back down the hall to the stairs, leaving Harry to stand indecisive once more with his hand on the doorknob.

He forced himself steady and sucked in a deep, long breath, eyes closed. He could do this. He had to do this. Voldemort needed to know _now_ that Dumbledore knew too much, that the very pieces of Voldemort’s existence could be in danger.

He didn’t bother trying to summon his usual smirk, instead forcing his expression into blankness as he opened the door and stepped inside. Voldemort was looking impatient and vaguely agitated, facing two lower-ranked Death Eaters who were trying and failing not to cower before him.

Voldemort’s eyes snapped to him as he closed the door behind himself, his expression showing surprise for a moment and his magic reaching out to curl around Harry seemingly automatically. Harry shivered and closed his eyes for a moment, summoning that famed Gryffindor stupidity that had got him this far. “Sorry to interrupt,” he said with a tense smile. “Got an important update for you.”

The Dark Lord didn’t even bother to look back towards the two Death Eaters kneeling before his desk, obviously sensing Harry’s tenseness as he sent them elsewhere with a flick of his wrist. “What is it?”

Harry approached but didn’t sit, too anxious to pretend nonchalance. He chewed at his lower lip hard enough that he made himself bleed as he kept his eyes on the desktop. What did he say? How did one break something like this gently?

Voldemort’s sigh was soft, and Harry was surprised when he stood and rounded the desk, manhandling Harry until he was facing him and looking up. “Well, Potter?” he said with an impatient scowl. “I assume this is serious.”

“Understatement,” Harry breathed, resisting the urge to look away again. Voldemort’s crimson eyes were close and steady, a pucker between his brows that he always got when he was troubled forming deeper by the moment. That Harry was so intimately aware of his expressions made something jolt in him, and he forced away the recollection that this was the first they’d seen one another since the kiss. He swallowed and forced himself to speak before his mind meandered too far down that line of thought. “I had another lesson with Dumbledore.”

Voldemort’s entire being stiffened: posture, expression, and magic. “And?”

Harry traced the frozen, angry lines of the reptilian face with his eyes. It was so familiar to him now, this monstrous amalgam of snake and man. Where he had once shuddered, he now only associated the familiar sight with comfort and reassurance. He rather dreaded the rage he knew would come. “He took me into another memory. It was badly modified, as the person who’d given it was ashamed of whatever they had actually done and said. So he’s setting my friends and I to research how to put the memory back to its natural state so he can confirm some ideas he has.”

Voldemort crossed his arms, leaning his hip against his desk and peering at Harry with narrow eyes. “You’re stalling, Harry.”

“I am,” Harry said plainly, chewing at his lip again. “I just want you to know that we’ll do whatever it takes to put him off. We can work together and make sure he never learns more than what he knows now. We’ll find a way to turn this in our favor—”

Something that, months ago, Harry never would have been able to distinguish as fear was creeping up in Voldemort’s expression, wild and mad. “Tell me.”

“He knows about your horcruxes, Tom.”

Harry hit his knees as Voldemort’s magic exploded out of him, icier than the darkest winter night and suffocating. Harry gasped and braced one palm against the floor to keep himself from falling over, his other hand raising to press against his chest. It felt like his lungs were being frozen solid, every breath harder to take than the one before. This was the first time Voldemort’s magic had not been surprisingly pleasing to him despite the underlying mood. It was nothing like his irritated rage, his frustration. This was— Harry could only describe it as primal, the terrified survival instincts of an apex predator being threatened. Harry gasped again, louder, feeling himself get light-headed at the lack of breath and pressure on his chest.

He looked up to see Voldemort immobile and wide-eyed, his magic just on the edge of visible roiling against his skin.

With a jerk, crimson eyes dropped down to lock with Harry’s collapsed form, and before he even had time to react Voldemort was gone with a deafening _crack_ that shook the very foundations of the manor.

All Harry could think of as he fought to regain balance in both his body and mind once more was that he really hoped Voldemort hadn’t gone to do anything stupid.

Voldemort did not return that evening.

Harry had paced his office for hours, tense and jumping at every noise. Suddenly, their lack of a proper ability to communicate when separated was an appalling oversight, and Harry was already planning something to fix it.

In the meantime, though, he could only worry and pace and occasionally fiddle with paperwork in a vain attempt to do something that would please Voldemort when he returned. It was stupid; he knew Voldemort wasn’t going to notice the state of his paperwork right away, but the part of Harry that always fretted and wished to be useful to those he cared for was reaching.

When midnight came and went, Harry made his way to the slightly larger town of Greater Hangleton. He found a drunk muggle attempting to pin a struggling girl to an alley wall and drained him dry, leaving his transfigured corpse in a dumpster. Upon returning to the manor and still finding Voldemort absent, Harry hunted through the house until he found the small, warded room Voldemort kept his artefacts in. It took quite a bit of his attention and effort to get through the wards, and only then because of Parseltongue and his and Voldemort’s shared blood. It was little more than a closet, but it was well-organized and held a lot of fascinating devices. He’d managed to be distracted for a bit by the room’s contents, but ultimately his lack of ability to focus had driven him back out again with his originally-intended prize. With the Time-Turner, he could stay another twelve hours in hopes of Voldemort reappearing, since it was nearing dawn and he was still out.

Eventually, he’d given in to his emotional exhaustion and found himself self-consciously crawling back into Voldemort’s bed, only weeks after the last time but infinitely more self-aware than he had been.  Even more so when he pulled out the locket, knowing he’d need to tell Voldemort about it anyway and wanting one last bit of peace before it was taken from him.

 _"Open,"_ he said softly, lying on his side with the locket propped on his palm a few inches from his face.

Tom’s face was more serious this time, brows lowered and lips pursed. _"Sleep, shpirt. He will return."_

 _ _"He’s not mad at "__ me _, right? Harry hated feeling so childish, but in his exhaustion he just couldn’t bring himself to care. _"He knows I’m not going to, like, help the old coot, right?"__

__

__

_"He knows. Were he angry at you, he would not have left to avoid harming you. Our tempers are quite similar, my dear."_ Tom wore a wry smirk now, shaking his head. _"Until it is exhausted, it tends to blind us. Just as your own rage overtakes you completely until the explosion has finished, ours does the same. He left, obviously, to be sure you weren’t caught in the crossfire."_

__

Harry thought that was far-fetched, but he liked the idea of it regardless. He smiled sleepily and pulled the locket closer, laying it against the pillow, curling around it as he tended to. _"Wake me when he gets back, please."_

_"Sleep."_

He did.

“My lord?  My lord, I have news!”

Harry groaned and pressed his face deeper into the pillow, trying to block out the annoying, warbling cadence of Bellatrix’s voice. It was too bloody early for that bitch. He inhaled deeply and found the scent that had lulled him to sleep stronger here, fuzzing his mind temporarily. Sleep tugged at his mind once more.

Unfortunately it was not to be, as more insistent knocking sounded. “My lord?” Her voice was going darker now, speeding up with panic. “Are you well, my lord? The elves assured me you were within your rooms—”

Harry stomped to the door in his open shirt and unbuttoned trousers, throwing it open with a scowl. But there was no one on the threshold. He raised a brow.

“My lord?” Her voice was hopeful again. “I have news to report from the task you set me!”

“Would you shut the hell up, Bellatrix?” Harry snarled, staring at the bend in the stairs of which she apparently stood at the base of, calling up them with the aid of a spell. “Voldemort’s—on an errand.” Better not to say he had no idea where he’d gone, he thought.

Silence resounded for a moment, but it was broken with both an offended gasp and the heavy tread of her steps on the stairs. She was stopped at the bend’s landing, straining forward as she came upon what seemed to be a ward. She looked feral, eyes manically wide and teeth bared. “You _dare_ enter my lord’s _chambers_?! None are allowed on the third floor, mongrel! The Dark Lord will feast on your entrails for your trespass—“

Harry yawned rudely, not bothering to cover his mouth as he leaned against the doorframe. “And yet the wards don’t stop me from coming up here like they do you.” He glanced back into the bedroom to check the time on the ornate, muggle clock that sat on the mantle. “Now would you shut up so I can sleep longer? It’s not even daybreak yet!”

The idea of him sleeping in Voldemort’s rooms – that she hadn’t gotten that by his state of undress made him want to roll his eyes – seemed to only infuriate her more. She was near to frothing at the mouth, vibrating in rage as she futilely tried to fight through Voldemort’s magical blockade. “You filthy halfbreed, how dare you sully—“

He turned and slammed the door closed behind him, going back to dig his wand from the blankets and put up wards of his own to return his peace and quiet. Thoughtfully, he didn’t set it to keep Voldemort away from his own room, pleased with himself for the foresight.

As he collapsed back onto the bed with a groan, a low chuckle caught his attention. The locket lay askew on the pillow he’d slept upon, and Tom’s face was amused within. _"She seems… pleasant."_

 _ _"Of course you’d like her, she’s "__ your _crawler bitch._

__

Tom laughed again, farther away now so that Harry could see the way he was elegantly sprawled on some kind of settee, legs crossed and arms splayed. _"Jealousy suits you, shpirt. You need not worry, however; I have eyes only for you."_

__

Harry buried his face into the pillow to hide the way his cheeks flushed, scowling. _"Stop trying to use your charm on me, Tom. I know you too well for that."_

__

__"Ah, you wound me. While I’m rarely very genuine, I assure you that I take you and all things related to you "__ very _seriously._

__

The honesty in his voice made a shudder roll down Harry’s spine. That he was completely unashamed to admit his manipulativeness was both surprising and not; Harry would have thought he’d be more coy about it, but then Voldemort was a very straight-forward sort of man to Harry at least. _"Stop trying to embarrass me, too. It isn’t cute, you psychopath."_

__

_"I am very cute,"_ Tom hissed with mock offense. Harry turned enough to peek at the locket from the corner of his eye, face still smashed into the pillow. _"And psychopath isn’t quite right. I’ve gone back and forth over whether I’m socio- or psychopathic over the years, but I don’t think either quite fits."_

__

Harry turned more fully to eye the locket, brow raised. _"I wasn’t being serious."_

__

_"I know, but I think honesty is important in a relationship such as ours, "_ he purred, grinning when Harry groaned again. _"Wouldn’t want any misconceptions creating problems where there need not be. In any case, I do feel emotion, contrary to popular belief about those with antisocial disorders, I am just more disposed to anger than any other. I certainly am lacking in empathy and am highly manipulative, but I have found myself deeply attached to other beings before in my life, even if less often than most. I do not know how others experience emotions, of course, but what is love if not the intense, visceral need to possess another? To keep them safe from harm? To strive for their happiness, being willing to do anything to ensure it? I am sure someone with more compunctions would describe it in more flowery terms, but I see little difference between what I feel and what others describe."_

__

Harry’s brow furrowed, and he shook his head. _"I’d never have accused you of not feeling emotions, Tom."_

__

_"Well, you know me rather better than most, don’t you? I have allowed few to know me as you do. "_ His raised brow and sly smirk made Harry feel a flush crawling up his neck once more. A surge of magic surrounded Harry in warmth, in affection, that had him melting back against the mattress. People were fools if they thought he was incapable of emotion; Harry had experienced the breadth of Voldemort’s emotions many times through his magic, negative and positive both. Tom chuckled again, low and quiet. _"You need more rest; you were barely asleep an hour. None will disturb you now."_

He wanted to argue, but he knew from experience how useless that was. Even if this wasn’t Voldemort – and it was obvious that the locket was not, so very young and nearly care-free as he was – he knew he’d lose if only by giving up. Instead, he yanked the duvet over his head and set the locket in his palm again, letting the magic roll over him in gentle waves. Part of him was petrified that he felt so content surrounded by this affection. But… they were friends, right? He’d come to accept that. It was strange, surely, but he could be friends with Voldemort and not be terrified.

That he found himself watching Tom’s smile as he drifted off again… well, the less said about that, the better.

Harry drifted awake knowing he was no longer alone in the room. In the back of his mind, he knew what that meant, but in the hazy space between sleep and waking he was merely content.

_"I will need to collect the others immediately. There is no longer any safe place away from my side if that old goat has even an inkling."_

From nearer to Harry, a hum. _"Indeed. You will allow me to keep watch over this one, yes? It’s only fair."_

 _"Fair?"_ Harry woke up a bit more at the snide tone to Voldemort’s voice.

_"Well, yes. Not all of us have the benefit of a physical body, least you can do is allow me to keep him close."_

Harry yawned and sat up, scooping up the locket and dropping it onto his chest as he usually did in the mornings. _"I think you’ve got that backward, Tom. You’re the object, I keep you _close._ "_

__

Moments later, Harry recalled where he’d fallen asleep and the events that had preceded it. His eyes flew to the bedside where Voldemort stood, arms crossed and eyes narrow as he glared down. On his chest, Tom chuckled from within the locket. _"Either way, shpirt. So long as I’m not denied our nightly cuddle—"_

Harry slapped the locket shut with a scowl, trying to ignore the heat crawling up his neck. He sat up and ran his fingers through his hair to attempt to tame it, biting at his lip. “Been back long?” A glance to the fireplace mantle told him it was nearing lunchtime.

“Not very,” Voldemort said shortly, long fingers tapping at his elbow. His gaze was dark and more closed off than he had been in months. It made Harry wary. “Why did you not tell me you had my locket?”

“Didn’t know it was yours, did I?” Harry had meant for his voice to be snarky, but instead it came out a bit morose. “I realized it used to be your mother’s after the last memory Dumbledore showed me, but the locket made sure I didn’t question what he was too deeply.”

Voldemort’s stare didn’t waver. “And if you’d known?”

“Well, obviously I came to tell you as soon as I did.” He felt a bit resentful that Voldemort was treating him with such suspicion and glared in response. “So don’t look at me like I’m about to stab you in the back.”

“Forgive me for being wary of the boy who has already destroyed one piece of my soul,” Voldemort hissed with agitation, lips drawn tight.

“I’ve been a hell of a lot more honest with you than you have been with me, Tom, so don’t give me that shit,” Harry snarled right back, sliding off the bed and into Voldemort’s space without a thought. “Maybe if you’d been less of a paranoid arse—“

Voldemort’s eyes flicked over him, something like amusement thawing his expression slightly. “Made yourself right at home, didn’t you?”

Harry flushed, recalling his state of undress. “What, did you expect me to wait in your office all night and morning? Figured I might as well get some rest before you got back.”

Crimson eyes were still flicking over him slowly; Harry resisted the urge to cover up under the scrutiny. “There was no reason to stay. You delivered the news.”

“Yeah, well, I wasn’t going to just plonk the locket down on your desk and leave, either, was I?” He took a small step back and crossed his arms. “Besides, you could have been doing anything. With my luck, you’d have gotten yourself in trouble and I’d have no way of knowing.”

The Dark Lord chuckled, posture easing yet more with the familiarity of their back-and-forth. “I’ve survived decades without a minder, Harry, but your concern amuses me.” Harry didn’t get a chance to respond before Voldemort was making his way towards the door. “Do get dressed and join me in my office, we have things to discuss.”

Harry sighed and stared at the open, empty doorway for a long moment before buttoning up his shirt and summoning his robes. A few spells had his hair tamed from the monstrosity it usually was first thing in the morning into a simple plait down his back, and he was on his way down the winding staircase only a minute or two after Voldemort.

He was already at his usual place at his desk when Harry entered, moving to his seat and sitting at the edge of it. “Ah, you should know that Bellatrix was here at a disgustingly awful hour of the morning screeching for you. Had news about whatever you’d set her on.”

“I assume she was respectful and informative?” The sarcasm in Voldemort’s voice was thick.

“Under the screaming and creative slurs against my person?” He rolled his eyes. “She wasn’t half pleased when she couldn’t get to me through the wards on the stairwell.”

“Did you answer her looking like you did this morning?” Crimson eyes flicked up and an amused smile curled his mouth as Harry shrugged. “I can only imagine the assumptions she’s made now.” Briefly, the look in Voldemort’s eyes heated, his smile going sly. 

Harry looked down at his lap and fiddled with the locket’s chain. After a moment of regret, he held it out over the desk. “I assume you want this back.”

Voldemort took the locket and stared at it, thumb brushing over the emerald ess across the front the way that Harry always did. With a hiss, he let it pop open and seemed to have a conversation in facial expressions with the portrait inside, as neither said a thing but Voldemort’s face cycled through emotions rapidly. After a moment, he rolled his eyes skyward and set the locket before him, wand in hand. He threw spell after spell at it; despite knowing Voldemort was obviously not going to harm his own horcrux, Harry found himself tense as he watched the varying colors of spells sink into the metal.

He held his silence, but only barely. Eventually Voldemort picked up the locket and let it dangle from his elongated fingers, the open faces twirling. “I have added security to it. Without physical contact, there is now no way for its magic to be sensed, and the locket now has the ability to burn anyone who touches it that is not allowed. If the person touching it does not stop, the burn can be fatal.”

Harry raised a brow and forced himself not to reach for it. “You should probably do something more instantly fatal, hmm? So that, just in case someone gets to it wherever you plan to keep it, there’s no chance of them managing to destroy it before it hurts them too badly.”

“So long as you never remove it, I don’t foresee that being a problem.”

Breath caught in his throat, Harry stared. “What?”

Voldemort moved around the desk slowly, the locket’s chain in both hands. He was perfunctory as he bent and placed it over Harry’s head, fingers only lingering slightly as he pulled Harry’s hair out from the loop. “As the locket made clear, the last place Dumbledore would think to look for a horcrux is certainly with you. With the magic contained to touch only, you’ll no longer need to keep it in a bag that could be separated from your person. You will keep it safe.” It was a mandate as well as a statement of fact, and Harry swallowed hard. He felt unsteady with the trust implicit with such an act, and he reached up to grasp the locket to keep his hands from shaking. It clicked closed but he still felt the surge of warm, haughty affection radiating from it as he tucked it under his clothing. Merlin, but the smug git was going to be distracting him constantly now.

He hated how giddy and pleased that made him feel.

“I will,” he responded belatedly, forcing himself to meet Voldemort’s stare.

The man hummed and sat back in his chair, arms crossing over his chest once more. “I will need to be away for a few weeks. If Dumbledore is aware of my horcruxes, I need to collect them immediately.

 “Weeks?” Harry said with consternation. “But our plans—“

“Are useless if I am distracted with concerns over my soul,” Voldemort hissed, eyes narrow. “Nothing is so urgent that it cannot wait until after Yule; that is when we had planned to step things up anyway.”

“I still can’t believe you are so stupid as to chop up your soul.” Remembering his anger, Harry sat up straight and scowled. “What kind of an idiot—“

“Silence, brat!” Voldemort’s lipless mouth was twisted as he snarled. “I have gone further down the path of immortality than any have dared; I would have died when you were but a babe if I had not had the wherewithal—“

“You probably wouldn’t have been barmy enough to try and kill an infant on half a prophecy if you hadn’t mutilated yourself, so there’d have been nothing to survive! You could have gone through the Change if you wanted to be immortal so badly—“

“Oh yes, being a vampire would have furthered my plans so well. Complete vulnerability when faced with sunlight, decades before there are any perks to speak of, a reliance on blood—“

“And turning yourself into a mad snake was a better choice? You know you were barmier than a—“

“It was the best option open to me!”

Harry realized they’d both stood at some point and were leaning over Voldemort’s desk, spitting at one another like enraged cats. The locket sent distinctly amused waves of magic over his skin as he startled back, noticing how close they were. He sat abruptly, frowning. “Well, now we need to fix it. It isn’t viable, having Merlin knows how much of your soul scattered about.”

Voldemort stood for another long moment before he too sat, tense and straight. “Precisely. So I will be journeying to recover the pieces I have hidden away, as well as to track down a means to repair some of the damage. I refuse to be rid of all of them, but contact with the ring has shown me that I should recover at least a few back.”

Harry didn’t like it. The idea of Voldemort being gone for weeks, of trying to manage their plans without him, of not seeing him weekly at the very least—he scowled and hunched, realizing he was near to pining and the man was right in front of him. “Right. When will you leave?”

“I will call my Death Eaters together this evening; you should be here. They will obey you in my absence or be killed by one of our hands. I will leave early in the week after and hope to be back by Yule.” Considering it was not quite December yet, that was a long window of time.

Harry fought to keep a scowl off his face and nodded.

“We will choose a task or two that may be completed without me alongside you. It would not do for Dumbledore to notice the sudden silence from our troops. We shall let the chaos focus on the Death Eaters themselves so that my absence at your side is less likely to be noticed.”

Harry tamped down the needy, pathetic parts of him that objected to Voldemort’s upcoming absence. He would be fine alone and his weird friendship with Voldemort was not so vital to him that he could not manage a few weeks on his own. It didn’t make sense for it to have such an effect on him. He would be fine.

She sat down blithely at his table in the library, nodding to him as if he hadn’t been isolated from nearly everyone for the majority of the last month. It had been nearly another week since the last time she had cornered him, and Harry was not fooled by her attempt at nonchalance. She stayed silent as she took out several Ancient Runes texts and some parchment, hardly looking at Harry after her greeting. Harry eyed Hermione warily but went back to the Transfiguration assignment he was finishing, glad she hadn’t approached him earlier when he’d been reading some borderline-illicit texts he’d snuck out of the Restricted Section.

He’d begun to loosen up after half an hour without any conversation, but he should have known better. As if sensing his relaxation, without looking away from the essay she appeared to be editing, Hermione’s quiet voice broke the standstill. “So I’ve narrowed it down. Either you’ve done something you feel guilty about or there’s something you’re embarrassed about. Or both. Just going by the years of data I have on your moods, I could be wrong.” She glanced up, brown eyes pinning him in place. “I doubt that, though.”

He tensed, nib of his quill breaking off from the unintended pressure he put on it. He swore and pulled out his wand to clean up the resultant splotchy mess, refusing to resume eye contact.

“Harry,” she said softly as he pulled a new quill from his bag. “You’re my best friend. I’m not going to look down on you for anything and not talking about it obviously isn’t working. It’s been weeks and you’re still strung tight as a bowstring. You snapped at a first year yesterday. Something is _wrong_.”

He hunched over his parchment, shoulders up near his ears. “Can you just leave it be? Please?”

“I tried that. But leaving it alone isn’t helping you, anyone can see that. People are starting to look at you like you’re a ticking time bomb.”

Like that was anything new. He sighed and dropped his quill, pulling off his glasses so he could scrub at his face with both hands. “What do you want from me?”

“Just… talk to me. What has you so completely out of sorts?”

He shook his head and looked away. “I can’t. It isn’t something you can help me with, okay?”

She rounded the table and sat precariously in the chair beside his, her rear on the very edge of the seat, and stared at him with wide, pleading eyes. “How can you know that if you won’t _talk_ to me? Am I your best friend or not?”

“Guilt tripping me isn’t going to make me more likely to tell you something,” he said with a scowl, crossing his arms. “This isn’t anyone’s business but mine. I am allowed to keep things to myself, Hermione.”

“Of course you are,” she snapped, matching his scowl with her own. “But Harry—look, you’ve obviously not been sleeping well, you always look exhausted. You hardly eat at mealtimes. You’ve taken to scowling at anyone who even glances at you… you’re obviously not coping with whatever is happening. And with your track record, all I can think if that this problem of yours is going to get you hurt or worse! If this is because of the prophecy—”

“This has nothing to do with Voldemort!” he hissed, though he felt his eye twitch when he realized that, really, it had _everything_ to do with Voldemort. He threaded his fingers through his hair and kept them there, staring down at the table. “It isn’t anything about the war and isn’t dangerous, so just leave it!”

“Then what _is it_ , Harry?”

“It’s just—“ he clenched his teeth and bit back a snarl, frustrated. Yes, he was exhausted. Between his worry about horcruxes, Voldemort’s sudden absence, and his own traitorous fucking _emotions_ he’d been twisting himself in knots the last few weeks. He couldn’t even use the locket to soothe himself as he had before; the knowledge that it was a piece of Voldemort rather defeated the purpose of keeping his mind _off_ the man. Even when it wasn’t actively teasing him with emotions, his reactions to the locket version of Tom were a large chunk of his problem to begin with. He was tense, anxious, and on the last threads of his patience with his charade as he found himself rudderless and disgustingly, achingly confused.

He stood then, the scrape of his chair pushing back catching attention from all the students in the area. Madam Pince was glaring, but he ignored her.

Hermione tried to grab at his sleeve as he shouldered his bag but he danced back out of her grip. “Leave it alone, Hermione. Leave _me_ alone.” He stalked away at a brisk clip, scowl thunderous. He didn’t dare look back to see the expression on her face.

Harry wrenched his invisibility cloak out of his warded pouch, stuffing the locket within right after. While he _could_ keep it on all the time, he found himself tucking it away at night now rather than the opposite due to the revelations, and if the locket got too insistent with its meddling intrusions, he removed it to keep it from prodding at him with its magic. In this moment, he didn’t have the patience to deal with the waves of magic meant to soothe him; he didn’t want to be soothed. Harry was angry and didn’t need a chunk of Voldemort babying him. He’d go work off his current rage like any other Dark Lord – through violence.

He settled the cloak around his shoulders and made his way down the many flights of stairs to the ground level, pausing only when he heard Flitwick tittering ahead. Soon enough, the professor had moved on and Harry was outside making his way across the grounds.

The way that anger burbled in his gut told him he’d been cutting it too close with his feedings lately; while one could survive off the bare minimum of animal blood, it wasn’t recommended even for a hybrid. It certainly wasn’t helping his temper any. While he couldn’t fall into a true berserk bloodlust state like a full vampire would without enough blood, the lack was sure to strip away any chance of him being careful and methodical in selecting his prey. If he went long enough, he’d be so blinded by the hunger that he’d just drain the first living creature he came across.

Thankfully, that wasn’t an issue yet. He could feel the warning signs, but as it was he knew he could keep his head while he hunted. He couldn’t risk Reverting, perhaps; while he hated hunting in his scrawny, sixteen year old body due to his stunted physical capabilities – and that was ignoring the possibility of being recognized – he didn’t want to risk the pain from Reversion sending him off deeper into his temper. Instead he pocketed his useless glasses and used a spell to lengthen his hair, smoothing his fringe over his scar. It wasn’t much, but it was after dark and anyone was close enough to see his face that clearly was likely moments from death.

Hogsmeade was not quite quiet this early in the evening; if he focused, he could sense many people at the town’s center still in one of the pubs or restaurants, and there were plenty of homes still lit despite the hour. He stuck to the furthest outskirts of the town where the small farms were kept, not wishing to push his luck in more populated areas. Wizards tended to have very drastic reactions if they thought there was a predator hunting them; it wasn’t uncommon for vampire hunts to spring up if a single, magical victim was found. Muggles, being ignorant, were a much better choice for a meal, even if those of magical blood were so very much more satisfying.

He’d make sure the body of his prey would never be found, though. It was the best way to ensure he was not discovered. He was lucky that, unlike normal vampires, he was able to use his magic freely.

One house stuck out to him, its overgrown garden and ill-repaired fence speaking of neglect. He could sense a single being inside the home, though, with the steady heartbeat and aura that spoke of sleep. He crept closer in the wan light of the crescent moon. It took less than ten minutes before he was exiting silently, licking at a bit of blood staining his cuff as he exhaled long and hard. The house was free of any evidence that the old witch who’d lived there had done anything but get up and leave abruptly. He felt loads lighter now, no longer teetering on the brink of snapping at the wind for blowing, for all that feeding couldn’t cure him of his emotional turmoil. He’d been lazy about hunting lately, grabbing up rabbits and the like for a quick few mouthfuls rather than travelling further afield for a proper meal as he should. He knew better and would need to do better in the future.

“Oh,” a voice breathed, breaking the stillness of the night. “I’m not supposed to meet you yet. Who has sent you to walk amongst us, Angel?”

Harry spun and stared. The voice had been soft and high, breathy. What startled Harry, though, was that whatever had spoken had no presence at all. He could hear a steady, slow heartbeat now that he focused, but there was no aura around the being. No magic, not even the vague shimmer of… of _spirit_ that even muggles gave off. Harry dropped a hand to one of his daggers and let his wand into his other hand, wary and narrow-eyed. “What are you?”

The moon was but a sliver and dim, but as the clouds shifted there was enough light to at least pinpoint the speaker. Its form was small and thin, gangly, and sitting with carelessly swinging feet upon a short garden wall. “You _glow_ , Angel. I’ve never seen someone so bright in all the world. How do you shine so bright?”

Now that he was focused, the voice was decidedly childlike. Harry took a step forward and confirmed that, whatever the being was, it looked like a young boy, no older than seven or eight. His skin was dark as pitch in the shadows, his hair buzzed against his scalp. He wore shortpants and an airy, flowing shirt that was incongruous with the weather. “Answer me. What are you?”

“What are any of us?” The boy cocked his head and smiled, the white flash of his teeth bright in the dark. His voice was playful rather than mocking. “You’re so Dark, Angel. Darkness wrapped in Light with shadows at your beck and call. You shine beneath the moon; you are brighter than the sun. Who sent you, Angel? What will you bring to this world?”

Harry was getting rather tired of all the ridiculous riddles and cryptic bullshit that had been hounding him lately. He lunged forward to seize the boy, intent on forcing answers one way or another, but found nothing but shadow in the place the boy had been moments before. Harry had not even blinked. He snarled and spun, trying to find the faint heartbeat again.

“You don’t need to worry about me, Angel,” the boy crooned, his airy voice seeming to come from all around. Harry tensed and fought the urge to spin in place. “I mean you no harm. I’m glad I got to meet you before you came for me. It won’t be long now until you set me free. Thank you for letting me bask in your brilliance, Angel. Goodnight.”

And just like that, Harry was left standing in the dark, alone, tense, and bewildered.

As he made his way back through the darkness, drained of his earlier anger, he sighed. He was so tired of the ridiculous things that happened around him. He was a magnet for the impossible and absurd, it seemed. He would need to set aside some time tomorrow to research what in the world that boy-thing had been; he knew better than to think that the encounter would come to nothing. Too much in his life was ruled by supposed coincidence and strange happenings; he would be better off if he always expected significance and was just thankful when strange things were fleeting and without a deeper meaning.

As entered the wards, he groaned aloud as he recalled what had set him off that evening. Hermione would not be letting him off easily. After his show of temper, in fact, she was likely to be even more persistent than usual in trying to ‘solve’ his woes.

He’d need to tell her _something_ after his earlier histrionics; being evasive was just making her plant her feet more firmly, and continuing it would make her nosier than ever. He just had to be sure he made it seem mundane. He’d need to give enough information to sate her, to explain why he’d been so cagey and contrary, but not so much that her famed curiosity took hold of her. No need to give her further tools towards her eventual unraveling of his secrets.

He reminded himself that, to Hermione, he was a teenage boy. Being hopeless in the face of a relationship was expected, and it had the bonus of being _true_ , even if he wasn’t actually a spotty sixteen year old.

Another sigh left him, deeper this time, as he cut around the Black Lake’s shores towards the castle. Being a teenager – authentically or deceitfully – was unreasonably hard.

She was half asleep in the common room when he entered; it was half past three in the morning, he realized with an unwelcome churn of guilt, and she’d waited up even with classes the next day. Well, he supposed now was just as good as any time would be.

Her face was pale and distraught as she ran up to him, outstretched arms suddenly jerking back in like she’d wished to grab him but thought better of it. “Harry, I’m so sorry—“

“Don’t apologize,” he said with a sigh, slumping. “I shouldn’t have taken out my temper on you.”

She fidgeted in place, toying with the hem of her blouse and swaying towards and away from him like she couldn’t help herself. “I only want to help.”

“I know.” He gestured towards the couch she had been sitting on, flopping into the squashy cushions and staring up at the ceiling. “It really isn’t something you can help with, Hermione. I know you want to, but it’s one of those things I have to work through on my own.”

The hours seemed to have cooled her irritation as well, as she only eyed him with sadness. “Sometimes just talking about it helps.”

He closed his eyes and sighed, deeply. “There’s a guy. I really shouldn’t like him, but I do. I’d been doing pretty good denying I liked him at all, but then we kissed last week and now I can’t really think about anything else. That’s all it is, ‘Mione. Just stupid boy problems.”

“Well, there’s certainly a stupid boy involved,” she said after a drawn out pause, voice sardonic.

“Thanks.”

“Does he like you back?”

“What does it matter?” he said sharply, opening his eyes once more as he sat back up, throwing her a dark look. “Like I said, I shouldn’t like him in the first place. Even if he did, it can’t work.”

“Falling in love is never easy, Harry—“

He cut her off with a harsh bark of laughter. “No. For one thing, this is just a weird crush that I am having issues ignoring. For another, I’m serious about it not working. There’s a war on, Hermione. I’m the Boy-Who-Lived, expected to fight even before all this prophecy nonsense got out, and there are too many possible consequences even if it’s just me being distracted. This isn’t a problem for you to fix. I don’t need advice, I just need time to get over it.”

“Is it because it’s a Slytherin?”

He jolted, then cursed himself for such an obvious tell. He hunched in on himself and scowled. “Just stop, Hermione.”

“I can’t really imagine any other reason you’d be so torn up over something as mundane as a possible relationship, not with all the other things you’ve been through. You need to stop thinking of all the reasons it’s wrong. You’re human before you’re anything else. It’s never wrong to care about someone, okay? It doesn’t matter who it is – anyone you would love must be something special.” Spitefully, to protest the use of that dreaded word, he wanted to tell her it was Voldemort just to see the look on her face. He, of course, resisted.

No harm, huh? No harm until the relationship became too obviously lopsided, or one of them did something unforgivable, or Voldemort’s emotional constipation sent him running, or Harry’s fears of inadequacy sent _him_ running… then the war effort was splintered and doomed due to a damned fling gone bad. Right. “It isn’t that easy. There are more important things at stake.”

She was obviously bursting with questions, but she seemed to sense that he wasn’t up to more. She did stand, though, and yanked him up into a hug despite his protests. “Just let yourself have something nice for once, won’t you Harry? You deserve good things, too.”

Again, the bitter part of him wanted to tell her just what she was advocating if only to see if she would faint at the mere idea. If she understood the gravity of what he was telling her, she’d be telling him to buckle down and nip these feelings in the bud as fast as possible, would be horrified at the mere idea that he’d developed this weird fascination with _Voldemort_ of all people. He didn’t even have a pretty face as an excuse, the man was half-snake!

She stepped away and smoothed her robes, hands going to her hips. “Now, you need to stop angsting about something you can’t change. You’re not going to be able to turn off feelings for someone no matter what you do, so you need to suck it up and accept them. Is it worse to have these feelings or to make yourself non-functional wallowing in denial?”

She had a bit of a point, however much he wished she didn’t. He looked at his feet and shuffled them, feeling like the sixteen year old he pretended to be.

“I think we both should try to get some sleep now, even if it will only be a bit. All right?”

Harry sighed and stretched, walking with her to the dormitory stairs. “Yeah, all right.”

“Wait!” He’d barely put a foot on the first step before she called out, making Harry freeze and turn to see her face contorted with horror. “It’s not _Malfoy_ , right?”

Harry couldn’t help the laugh that escaped him, exhausted mentally and physically as he was. It felt a little like weight lifting off his shoulders.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the erratic updating; I'm often without motivation if I'm tired (and I'm always tired). Add to that that I share my laptop with my 13 year old son and don't want to steal the only device with a real keyboard when _he_ has the inspiration to write his own fics, I often wind up going days without managing good timing to work on things.
> 
> And then there's the Dear Evan Hansen fic he puppy-eyed at me to write for him, and though that's a small project... the tone difference between the fandoms/fics makes it hard to switch between the two without a break in between, haha.
> 
> But I managed to get here! I want to give belated and effusive thanks to [Infestation](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Infestation/pseuds/Infestation)for their ongoing input and to [ProblematicFave](http://archiveofourown.org/users/UntraditionalMedicinal/pseuds/ProblematicFave) and [WyldeHeart ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WyldeHeart/pseuds/WyldeHeart) who listened to a lot of whining from me in the last two chapters and helped me make this less silly. I appreciate you (as well as the others who gave their input) very, very much! ♥


End file.
